


Watching Supernovas

by Scouts_Mockingbird



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Modern AU, Recovery, Slow Burn, eventual polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2019-10-12 10:33:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 84,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17465897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scouts_Mockingbird/pseuds/Scouts_Mockingbird
Summary: Down on their luck private investigators Veronica Sawyer and JD have a complicated history, both on their own and with each other. Heather Duke is an actress, tired of being controlled by Heather Chandler and Heather McNamara, her agent and stylist. When she starts receiving eerie letters from an admiring fan, she requests Veronica and JD's protection.





	1. In the Valley of the Dolls

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the new au! I was hesitant to post this because traffic on my work has been really slow, which is sad to say the least, but I'm really proud of this and I'd like to hear what people think. Thank you for reading and enjoy!

They didn’t have an apartment.

Spare money had been scarce for too long, and even with half a dozen roommates each, they hadn’t managed to afford two rents on top of the fee for the office space and their various expenses.

JD had been the first to offer to move into the office. The pullout couch had been in there from the start, though before JD’s move it had only ever served its couch function.

There had always been a sink in the office, leftover from when the building had housed tiny apartments, so in a way it worked just fine as a combined office and living space. During the day, their rare customers would hardly be able to guess that they lived here; the man who owned the building hadn’t.

When Veronica’s rent had gone up unexpectedly, she’d been forced to join him. It was an awkward setup, as neither of them saw themselves as particularly compatible for living with the other, but sacrifices had to be made for the sake of the business.

More sacrifices were made in the weeks that followed the move.

Their food got cheaper, then smaller. Their clothes wore down but weren’t replaced. They protected their few valuables and scrounged for clients in whatever seedy locations people normally searched for private investigators.

But it didn’t matter.

Veronica was looking at the bills that were due in the coming weeks, and she did the math.

When she didn’t like the math, she did it again.

After a third time, she resigned herself to the truth.

Unless they finally figured out a way to sell their souls, they wouldn’t have enough to cover the office rental and they would finally have to admit defeat.

Veronica leaned against the desk, still staring at the sheet of paper whose contents she’d long since deciphered. There was nothing to be done about it.

They were finished.

DS Investigative Services had barely even lived, and yet it would die a slow, limping, inevitable death this month.

Veronica looked towards the door as if her eyes alone could summon a desperately needed customer. She would have welcomed even the skeeviest of men—though she generally preferred to have JD there when she dealt with them—if it meant just a little more time.

When no one walked in, Veronica crossed to the cupboards and counter that served as their kitchen and grabbed the bottle of vodka.

Mindful that it would be their last one for a while, Veronica only took one large swallow before she returned it to its shelf.

The burn as it slid down her throat clouded her head just enough to ease her thoughts away from her dark future.

Homelessness and hunger were all she could see from the coming weeks. They didn’t have a car anymore, having sold the wreck of a station wagon she’d arrived in California in ages ago.

The inevitability of it sank around her and she sighed, glancing back at the papers on the desk, wishing there was something else to be gleaned from them. It seemed unfair for someone to send such a dire bill without even bothering to include a “So you’re going to be homeless…” clause at the end.

Veronica sighed again and looked around at the dingy office. She supposed the bank could be forgiven for not including instructions; they almost certainly didn’t know that two people were living in this office. To them, it just meant relocating a business.

To Veronica it meant the loss of a way of life and a silly little pipe dream they had carried for so long.

 _“_ It’s a bad time to be a private eye,” She said to the empty room in her best Film Noir Femme Fatale voice. Normally it would have at least made her smile, and if JD were here, he probably would have laughed, but in the stale air that stank of her hopelessness, it only highlighted the emptiness.

She might as well have said goodbye.

Falling heavily into the uncomfortable desk chair, Veronica tried to plan, but the vodka kept her brain just scattered enough to make them mostly nonsensical wishes, and though she knew she should stop, she indulged for just a few more minutes.

Her eyes had started to itch with unshed tears by the time JD walked in.

Of course he could immediately tell that something was wrong. They’d known each other too long and seen each other in too many situations to not recognize feelings on this scale.

“Veronica?” He crossed the room and put a hand on her shoulder.

Despite knowing it was a bad idea, Veronica leaned into the comforting weight of his hand. Unable to explain things aloud, Veronica gestured hopelessly at the bills on the table.

He understood. They had known for a while that they were living on the edge, and that this final blow would come eventually.

His hand slid from her shoulder to her back and he pulled her into a hug. It was against the rules they’d set up so carefully after their last breakup, but Veronica couldn’t make herself care.

They needed this little refuge in each other, and as long as they both knew what it was, it wouldn’t change anything.

When JD kissed her, Veronica stopped trying to justify it. This was hardly the first time they’d broken their rules, though those times had been brought on by alcohol and loneliness rather this this vast, empty desperation.

Veronica stretched up and pressed into him, trying to get lost in the kiss and the contact.

She pushed his coat off his shoulders, barely stopping to wonder why he’d worn it at all on a day as warm as this one.

He pulled back a little when she reached for the buttons on his shirt, and she expected him to ask if she was sure, or to reference their rules. He didn’t.

Instead, he buried his face in her neck, breathing deeply and clinging to her hips as he dragged his lips across the sensitive skin on her throat.

This was idiotic. What they were doing would solve nothing, and yet they didn’t stop.

JD let out a groan when Veronica bit his shoulder and tangled his hands in her hair, pulling her face up to his for another long kiss.

They pulled apart for the awkward moments of pulling off shoes and socks and turning the couch into a bed.

“So, we’re really doing this?” JD said.

“Yep.”

His eyes rolled slightly. “You don’t have to sound so disappointed about it.”

“Right,” Veronica said with a faint smile. “I’ll save that for after.”

He laughed and reached for her, pushing her hair out of her face. “Veronica, you’re my nightmare.”

They kissed while they fumbled clumsily with their remaining clothes until they fell into the bed.

Veronica rolled them so she was on top of JD, barely bothering with any warm-up. This wasn’t the time for soft or gentle or slow. They’d known each other long enough to know each other’s favorite things and best moves; it didn’t need to be dragged out anymore.

Friends, business partners, people who occasionally had sex; their relationship tended to careen wildly from one role to the other, often many times in a day. At the moment, they were caught somewhere between friends and lovers as they kissed and cradled and pushed themselves together in their pressing need to know they weren’t alone.

 _I am here,_ He didn’t have to say. _We’ll get through this._

She wouldn’t have believed him if he’d said the words aloud, but like this, as she rolled her hips and shuddered, finally reaching her climax, it felt like the truth.

He came after her with a groan she felt rumble through his chest, vibrating against her own.

They were tangled up in the sheets, lost in their thoughts and passing a cigarette before either of them brought up the thing that had gotten them into this situation.

“We can figure this out,” JD said. “I’ll sell the bike. That will cover rent on this place for a little longer and—”

“And we’ll delay the inevitable. JD, the problem isn’t just that we don’t have any money now; we don’t have any potential money coming in the future. We need more clients.”

That paused him for a second and Veronica took a long drag, begging herself not to buy into his optimism. He was the type of person who believed no matter what that the world would eventually bend to his will if he only made the right plan.

Veronica had given up believing she could change the world ages ago and could only stomach his belief for minutes at a time now.

On this case, at least, he was easily silenced. They’d tried everything before, and now their loans and rent and credit card debt was piled too high around them for escape.

“I can call my d—”

“No.” Veronica rolled over to clamp her hand against JD’s mouth. “Don’t even say it. I won’t let you. I would rather be homeless than crawl to him and ask for a single fucking dime.”

His shoulders sagged in relief and he dropped his head to hide his face in her hair.

JD’s father was rich enough to bail them out of all of it, but even the thought of what JD would have to do or say to get him to do it turned Veronica’s stomach. Nothing was worth what that scumbag would say to JD if he called.

“Can I tell you I love you?” He asked quietly.

Veronica shook her head. “Don’t.”

She felt him smile. “Fine. I still do though.”

“I know.”

They didn’t try to discuss what this would mean. They both knew that however close they were in this moment, it didn’t mean they were back together. They had too much to worry about without adding their disaster of a relationship to the mix.

“I can call my parents,” Veronica offered lamely to break the thoughtful silence.

It was a stupid suggestion; she hadn’t so much as spoken to her parents in years, and for all she knew they thought she was dead. If she turned up out of the blue asking for money, they were as likely to call the police as actually help her.  

JD knew all of this but had the decency not to point it out.

“If we got a client,” JD didn’t even finish the sentence. A single client almost certainly couldn’t get them out of this mess, and certainly no clients like their usual ones.

Private investigators weren’t really in demand and aside from men asking them to find out if their wives were cheating (they usually were), there wasn’t much of a market for their skills. The lame attempt they’d made to break into private security hadn’t been a rousing success either. Hollywood was insular, and no one wanted to hire two people no one knew, with no background or references.

Their website still reflected the many services they offered, but soon they wouldn’t be able to pay for it anymore, and they’d finally be truly and completely sunk.

“It would take a miracle to save us now, wouldn’t it?” His voice was hollow.

Veronica curled closer to JD and didn’t respond.  

***

Heather stood still in the center of the activity.

This was how it had been for years now, Heather as the planet that her friends revolved around while they fluttered and changed and fixed her.

It was exhausting.

“For fuck’s sake Heather stop poking me,” She snapped abruptly.

Heather McNamara looked up, the ends of her bleached white hair swirling slightly before they landed perfectly against her high cheekbones and angular jaw. “Then stand still. The dress is almost ready.”

Forcing herself to focus on her own reflection rather than her friend’s irritating flawlessness, Heather examined the dress with a critical eye. “Are we sure about the green?”

Heather rolled her eyes. “What other color would it be? This is your signature.”

“I don’t know,” Heather sighed and shrugged. “Red?”

That finally caught Heather Chandler’s attention and she looked up from her phone. “Excuse me? Heather did you have a brain tumor for breakfast? We’ve talked about this. Red isn’t your color.”

“It really couldn’t work with your hair,” Heather agreed, toying with a strand of Heather’s long, orange-y red hair.

“Besides,” Heather continued as if Heather hadn’t spoken, “You have an image to maintain. People want to see you in green so you’re wearing green.”

“Shouldn’t I do something surprising though? Wouldn’t that create more talk?”

Heather stepped away from the wall she’d been leaning on to approach Heather. Though her walk was smooth and calm, she had a way of moving that made Heather feel threatened.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. “It isn’t your job to think about that stuff, Heather.”

Heather tried to think up a response, but she just stammered a little before falling silent. She was useless without a script.

“But,” Heather continued, suddenly cheerful. “We do need to create a bit of a stir, get people talking. Nothing too scandalous, but enough to make people remember you exist before Oscar season.”

“I’m not nominated for an Oscar. I barely got a shout out at—"

“That’s not what’s important. What’s important is that some new fact comes out about you so that people are waiting for your awards show appearances.” As always, Heather made these things sound so obvious.

“If we want something to come out, maybe Heather finally can,” Heather said with a sharp smile, setting her pins down.

Heather glared at her, biting down on her cheek to fight the pain and anger she wanted to unleash.

Before she could say anything, Heather sniffed decisively, looking down her nose at Heather, an accomplishment seeing as McNamara was four full inches taller than Chandler. “Absolutely not, it’s too controversial. We want her to be interesting, not political.”

Heather wanted to try to explain that her existence wasn’t political, but as usual, Heather and Heather bulldozed passed the moment without bothering to acknowledge Heather’s thoughts.

“Heather, why don’t you come forward to talk about your struggles with eating disorder? That’s trendy and a little gross, but not too out there. What do you think?” She didn’t pause for a reply. “Perfect, I’ll see what I can set up. Heather, figure out something she can wear. Something that makes her look skinny.”

With that, Heather turned on her designer heels and walked out of the room, already typing something on her phone.

Throat burning, Heather started to pull at the straps of the heavy green dress, suddenly needing it _off_ as soon as possible.

Heather stopped her. “Just chill for a second, I’ll take it off.” She muttered something under her breath, but Heather was panting too hard to hear it.

As soon as the dress was off, Heather took off across the studio floor to the bathroom. She only barely took the time to lock the door behind her before falling to her knees next to the toilet, heaving.

She hadn’t eaten much at lunch, barely nibbling at a salad because she didn’t want to be bloated before the fitting, but her stomach roiled, threatening to send it back.

Stress always did this to her. Most high emotions did. After years of purging food because she couldn’t purge her emotions, the two had become so permanently linked that she often couldn’t tell when she was truly sick or just sad, angry, frustrated, or scared.

And somehow she was supposed to be prettily tearful while she talked about it with some talk show host who was feigning sympathy. It was all disgusting and fake.

She gagged again, but nothing came up. After a few long breaths, she stood on shaky legs and—out of habit—rinsed her mouth out at the sink.

It would have been nice, even helpful, to splash water on her face, but Heather had done her makeup earlier and she would be furious if Heather wrecked it over nothing.

By the time Heather returned to the studio, she felt almost normal. Heather was right that talking about her ED would raise some sympathy and get people talking. Really, it was a smart move. Heather only wished that it could be a lie, like the way all celebrities said that they had been bullied. Some of them likely had been, but it seemed unlikely that white people with beautiful, symmetrical faces were the ones who received the most bullying in America.

“If I ever really make it, I’m never going to pretend I was bullied,” Heather said.

Heather looked at her, arching one perfect, dark brow. “What?”

“Everyone says they were bullied in high school, they can’t all be telling the truth. I’m not going to lie about that.” Of course, if anyone had known anything about who she really was, she certainly would have been bullied, but even back then Heather and Heather had run interference, protecting her in their friendly, hurtful way.  

Heather nodded. “Our school just wasn’t like that.”

That was absolute shit, Westerburg had been full of bullies, but Heather wouldn’t be aware of that, having been one of them.

“Do you like the premiere dress?” Heather asked. Though Heather was always on Heather’s side, rather than Heather’s, she did genuinely want Heather to like what she was wearing, and the clothes were her way of saying she cared. “We’re still working on the awards dress.”

Heather nodded, because that was easier than disappointing her. “I’m sure they’re both great. I like this one.” She hesitated, trying to come up with something positive. “It’s sexy.”  

“I want you to look like the girl from one of those old black and white movies with all the rain,” Heather said eagerly, latching on to any praise for one of her selections, though she had nothing to do with designing the dress. As with her other job, Heather merely ‘influenced’ things, rather than creating them herself.

“Film noir?”

“I don’t speak French. I’ll send you a concept board for your hair and makeup later, but I was thinking soft round curls and then something with a dramatic lip.”

Heather hated the way bright lipstick smeared all over everything, but on this, as on most things, she gave in, with one little push. “Can it be red?”

“Yeah, I’ll send some color ideas over later. What type of red were you thinking? Something with a blue base might look good, or we could try something that’s sort of a blood orange, that might bring out some of the highlights in your hair, or did you mean an oxblood?”

Already overwhelmed after making one request, Heather shook her head. “I don’t… I’m sure whatever you think will be good. I trust you.”

Heather smiled. “Perfect. I’ll let Henri know that you love the dress and I’ll talk to my guy about jewelry. You’ll be all set by Friday.”

“Thank you, Heather.”

“Of course, Heather.” Smiling, Heather grabbed the dress bag and the spare outfits she’d brought. “I have to go, I’ve got a video to upload and I need to add another of those face mask pictures to my story before tonight. Can you believe they demanded five posts in a week? My fans will think I’m selling out.”

Heather prayed that Heather’s fans already knew she had been born sold out, but didn’t say anything. Life as an Instagram model, youtuber, and one-woman brand had made Heather completely immune to reality checks.

Alone at last, Heather looked around at the mess in the studio. It was their constant staging area for events like this, and Heather knew that someone would be around to tidy it up, but she hated leaving it looking like this.

Folding abandoned clothes and returning the rejected designer shoes to their proper boxes was soothing. For a moment, she could forget that at some point, Heather was going to put her on camera to talk about her most personal medical history. With each thing that made its way into a neat pile, Heather let the memory of her friend referring to her being a lesbian as “too political” to talk about fade to the back of her mind.

When the room was returned to order, so was Heather. Squaring her shoulders, she walked out to the street and texted her driver.

Ori pulled up in the sleek black car and didn’t speak when she got in. She had hired him when, during their trial drive together, he had said nothing at all, looking straight ahead with thoughtful dark eyes like he had no interest at all in what she did with her life.

Later, he’d politely asked her about the book she was reading, and they’d discussed it quietly for a moment. After that, she’d given him a raise and he was the only member of her little team that she believed would stay with her if she ever had a patented celebrity meltdown.

They drove home in silence, the only comfortable silence Heather felt she had left Ohio. At the end of it, Heather felt oddly peaceful as Ori walked her to her front door.

She turned to him, feeling slightly choked up, though she wasn’t sure why. “Thank you.”

He smiled, his tired old eyes crinkling kindly. “You’re welcome Miss Duke.”  

Feeling somehow recharged from the little interaction, Heather entered her house with more enthusiasm than she’d had leaving the studio.

She’d been putting off the _Strike the Sun_ script Heather had sent her, but she had time now, and it would be good to make some progress before the premiere and the awards show, both of which would keep her too occupied to do much reading for her new role.

She’d read an early draft of the script and had fallen in love with the concept of a modern adaptation of _Moby Dick_ —one of Heather’s high school favorites—with a woman in the lead. Her new copy was the shooting script that they would adhere to while filming, and the thought of finally getting to play this role, a leading role that required real thought and skill, lightened Heather’s heart as she wove her way through the house and into her office.

Her house was a rental, and Heather had let Heather style it according to what she said would photograph best, rather than what either of them actually liked—though it was more to Heather’s taste than Heather’s, she was the stylist after all. Only one room had been left entirely for Heather.  

The office at the back of the house had the best view on the first floor, and everything that wasn’t window was bookshelves, stacked with Heather’s favorites, old scripts, and the books she intended to read someday, just as soon as she had the time.

Heather sat in the desk chair, spinning it slightly just because she could. Her script sat in the center of the desk, begging her to get to work, but she wanted to stay in this brief moment of free time, one of the few luxuries her life didn’t afford her.

A small cluster of photographs sat on her desk, and Heather studied them despite their familiarity. A grainy old photo of a barely toddling Heather standing next to her father was almost too sad to look at, so she skimmed past it to study the one she kept next to it.

Heather, Heather, and Heather all in their school uniforms, holding croquet mallets and smiling for the camera. Heather wasn’t sure when it had been taken, but she could guess based on Heather’s still slightly awkward pose that they were roughly sixteen. By the time they’d reached seventeen, both Heather and Heather had come to the realization that they were more than just pretty and had begun to fully embrace all that beauty could offer them.

And now, years later, Heather still felt like she had never quite managed to do that, as often as she had tried and as hard as she had pretended.

The third and final photo was the only one Heather wasn’t in, but she kept it for inspiration. It was a rare collector’s item, one that increased in value every year. Autographed photos were more common now, though they still sold at a premium, and there would be no more photos—signed or otherwise—to keep the cost down. She traced the familiar features and wondered what this beautiful, tragic woman would think of Heather’s life.

“Would you be disappointed?” Heather wondered. “I’m sure you never let anyone else make decisions for you.”

The actress stared back, her enigmatic smile and arched brows forever frozen.

Rolling her eyes at her own absurdity, Heather picked up her script and a highlighter and set to work. This part of her job she could handle. 


	2. Broken Hearts Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going through kind of a rough patch right now so I would really appreciate comments on this. Thank you so much for your support. Enjoy.

“I’m telling you, Veronica, the whole industry is poison,” JD said, taking a drag from a cigarette.

“So you’ve said,” She replied mildly, examining the camera lens.

He sighed, realizing that her attention was fixed on the woman in the diner across the street—the subject they’d been hired to follow— rather than on his rant, which she had admittedly heard before.

Still, he went on; there was no point in wasting a perfectly good rant. “You aren’t listening to me; it’s a superficial nightmare!”

“Yes, I am,” She insisted, still not looking at him. “You’re mad because we drove past a premiere and you think Hollywood is a cesspool. It has everything to do with the industry and nothing at all to do with your personal issues with fame and—”

“Shut up.”

“That’s what I thought. She’s still alone. Are we sure she’s meeting someone? Sometimes people go for coffee alone.”

“What’s she doing?”

“Sitting, looking around.”

“She has to be waiting for someone, otherwise she would have brought something to do, or at least taken her phone out.”

Veronica nodded. “I hope no one is standing her up; I want to go home.”

“Why, do you have a date?”

“You sound hopeful.”

JD shrugged. “Dates buy you dinner and you bring home leftovers; it’s free food.” Jealousy was a waste of energy in their relationship, and neither had ever really bothered with it.

Veronica laughed and set the camera aside to lean into JD for a moment.

His heart flipped oddly, like he’d missed a step while going down stairs. She had broken one of their rules about physical contact.

_It’s fine when it’s necessary, but we should avoid being too touchy; it’s not professional._

They had decided that the sex they’d had— though not very professional—was necessary at the time, and therefore okay.

They hadn’t discussed it further after that, though more than once he’d thought about bringing it up.  

“Someone’s going into the diner,” He said, breaking the almost vaguely romantic moment. It might have been disappointing, but JD knew it was easier this way.

Their clients weren’t enough to really save them, and even if they managed to sell some of the furniture, they were still in a bad place.

They could still use a miracle.

“I think that’s the divorce lawyer,” Veronica said, holding up the camera so he could compare her photo to the one they’d gotten online.

“Looks like him,” JD agreed. “They’re probably meeting about court stuff.”

“Maybe they need a private investigator to find out if her ex is cheating,” Veronica suggested with a smile.

JD laughed. “We could play both sides. They say no one wins in a divorce, but maybe we could.”

Veronica laughed and lifted the camera again. “Holy shit, the bastard isn’t just paranoid.”

She handed him the camera and he held it up, snapping a couple of his own pictures of their subject kissing her lawyer.

“So what came first,” He asked, “The divorce or the divorce lawyer?”

“He’s only paying us for these photos,” Veronica said. “Maybe we can offer to dig further and create a timeline; it might help his case and it will definitely help us.”

“I kind of feel bad for her,” JD said, not really answering her. “Maybe he’s a jerk.”

“He’s probably a jerk,” Veronica agreed, “But we’re a little too broke for morals right now, JD.”

He nodded, even though it ate at him. His long held dream of being able to actually help people continued to evade him.

Their pictures taken, they left the bus stop and began to head home, embracing the long walk.  

A few blocks from home, a boy that had been loitering on the sidewalk perked up, looking closely at JD.

A part of him hated the arrogance with which he assumed what would happen next, but the accuracy of his prediction justified him.

“Are you… You’re Jason Dean, right?” The boy looked eager, though he tried hard to hide it under a mask of boredom that matched the rest of his aesthetic.

This hadn’t happened in a while, and in hopeful moments JD had believed maybe it never would again, but of course there were some things that could never be escaped. Hands shoved deep into his pockets, JD ducked his head, using his usual response. “Sorry kid, I get that a lot but it’s not me.”

Momentarily unsure and visibly disappointed, the kid searched his face for another long second.

Skin crawling, JD back away. “Have a good one.”

He walked on and Veronica kept pace with him. He knew without looking what expression she wore and that she probably wanted to bring it up.

“Don’t.”

She sighed, probably disappointed, and sped up to walk past him. JD fought the urge to look back at the kid.

* * *

Heather’s face hurt. She smiled and turned, arching her back perfectly to display the figure she’d suffered so much for.

The photos would be edited before they were published, highlighting her flaws by erasing them, making her struggle ironic on top of being stupid and tragic.

Still, she smiled, beaming despite her aching face and feet. The dress was heavier than she remembered, leaving her feeling blurry and achy and far away from the present moment.

All she wanted was to look long and lean and elegant and she wondered if the strain of that goal was showing on her face. _It can’t show. I have to be effortless._

“Heather, how are you feeling right now?” The question came from behind the bright flash of the cameras; Heather couldn’t see the speaker.

“I’m just overjoyed!” Heather said, barely thinking. “I’m so happy for my friends in this film; I know they worked really hard and I’m so excited to see the end results.”

Gliding past the reporter, Heather moved up the carpet, waving at faces she recognized, people she’d met at one function or another. Celebrities were supposed to be friends with other celebrities, so Heather had made every effort to be seen laughing with beautiful people she found rather boring.

Premieres were populated almost exclusively with those people, so it was an easy task, but a shitty night overall. Heather could barely even bring herself to enjoy the movie when it played, and caught herself judging the acting decisions one of the stars had made. It wasn’t charitable, but Heather was still slightly bitter about a role they’d both been up for. Heather hadn’t gotten it and nothing had ultimately come of the project, but the bitterness of not having been chosen remained.

When it was all over, Heather happily collapsed onto her couch with frozen gel bags wrapped around her feet while Heather and Heather went through comments on the photos that had been posted.

“This one isn’t bad,” Heather said, holding out her phone.

 The picture on it wasn’t bad at all, Heather thought; her smile looked lively and genuine and the lighting was good. The sleek, mint green satin dress made her skin glow. She looked she’d stepped out of a black and white film and into full color, elegant and shining.

She knew Heather wanted her to feel bad about the photo—due to her modeling experience, Heather was very critical of poses and smiles and angles—but Heather looked at it and felt her lips curl; she looked like a star.

“You should smile less,” Heather said, typing on her phone. “Especially after that vapid comment you made to that reporter. We’re cultivating an image here, and Heather and I can’t do all the work.”

The smile wiped itself off her face. “Right, sorry Heather.”

Heather went on without acknowledging her. “You’re supposed to be cool, smart, aloof. Everyone’s ideal girl. We choose films for their high-brow scripts that emphasize the art of filmmaking. You’re an artist, Heather, not a pretty moron in a nice dress. If I wanted to manage one of them, I could go to any café in LA, grab a random waitress and let her raid my closet.”

“Or mine,” Heather chimed in. “Is that a good blog post idea? Maybe I should do like… an ambush style of my barista or something. I’m dying to fix her hair.”

Heather rolled her eyes, finally looking up. “You can’t kidnap your barista even if she deserves it for dressing like a hipster hobo.”

Heather sighed, trying to tune them out. “Did anyone get my mail for today?”

That distracted Heather momentarily from discussing her barista’s bad taste. “Isn’t it Megan’s job to read that?”

“I like to read it myself,” Heather said, wishing she didn’t sound defensive. “They’re my fans.”

“When you get anthrax, I’m going to remind you that you said that.” Heather inspected her perfectly manicured nails, plucking at a nonexistent cuticle.

“It’s in the dining room; Megan brought it over earlier.” Heather supplied, slightly more helpfully.

Heather stood up, thanking whatever power monitored her life that Heather’s assistant was level headed and respected the fact that Heather liked to read and respond to her mail.

Today’s mail was the usual smattering of kind words and questions. Heather typed quick responses to the ones who’d left return addresses and emailed them to Megan, who would print and mail them with an autographed photo. Heather didn’t do this every day, but liked to occasionally respond to a couple people. Receiving a response and photo had inspired her once, and it warmed her to think she might be continuing a cycle.

The last letter had a typed envelope, no return address, and a chill ran down Heather’s spine. Heather’s joke about anthrax came back to her, but she refused to indulge her paranoia. She tore the envelope open and tossed it aside when no white powder spilled out.

The letter was typed on plain computer paper, utterly unremarkable but for the words on it. “I miss you. Do you miss me?”

“I got another one, Heather said, interrupting Heather and Heather in a heated debate about Heather’s new turquoise shoes.

Heather seemed relieved at the interruption; she enjoyed an argument but tended to lose patience with one subject after a while. “What?”

Handing the letter over, Heather watched as they inspected the words.

Heather shrugged it off easily, as she did with most things. When one was a millionaire and “Influencer”—a title of which Heather was quite proud—as well as celebrity stylist, few things were truly problems. “It’s just some creep.”

Equally unperturbed, Heather tossed the letter aside. “That’s not even close to the weirdest thing someone has said about you. I read this comment on an interview you did—”

Not sure she would be able to stomach it after the evening she’d had, Heather interrupted Heather. “But this is the fifth one!”

They both looked a little stunned; Heather never raised her voice unless she was acting.

Heather spoke to her slowly, like she was dealing with a very old, very stupid person. “It’s nothing. Some weird fuck is sending you letters to get your attention, just ignore him and he’ll move on to someone else.”

Sighing, Heather stared at the piece of paper in her hand. “Maybe I should take this one to the police—”

“Why?” Heather cut her off.

Wisely, Heather remained silent, staring at her shoes and staying out from between the two of them.

“Why?” Heather repeated. “They can’t do anything if no one made any threats. “I miss you” isn’t a threat.” Taking the letter from her hands, Heather balled it up and tossed it into the trash. “Leave it alone, _Heather_.”

Shocked into silence, Heather nodded. “Right, sorry Heather.” A long, weighty silence went by. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Good, you need it. You have bags,” Heather said, cheerful, now that the arguing was over. “Don’t forget to put on that crème I got for you. It goes under your eyes and on your neck. Maybe put some—”

“Yeah, Heather, I can put on lotion.” Heather sighed, hauling herself up on feet that still ached from shoes she hadn’t been allowed to choose for herself.  

“It’s not lotion,” Heather snapped. “It’s a Swedish crème for—”

“Goodnight. Don’t forget to lock the door on your way out.”

Of course, escape could never be that easy. Heather followed her out of the living room and caught her on the landing in front of her bathroom.

“Are you okay?”

The words ought to have sounded caring, and maybe deep down Heather meant them that way but all Heather could hear was their sharp edge, the demand, in them.

“Yeah. Premieres are tiring, that’s all.”

“Good. I can’t have you burning out. We’re so close to real fame, Heather; you don’t want to have some kind of freak out right now. It will ruin everything.”

_You will ruin everything._

“I know, Heather. I’m not freaking out, I promise.”

“Good. Sleep well, Heather.” Heather turned back to her, her startlingly red lips curling up. “And could you believe those hideous shoes Heather was wearing?”

Heather smiled, pleased to be in on the joke, rather than the butt of it, for a change. “Since when does she wear turquoise?”

Heather’s smile had softened and she reached up to push a strand of hair off of Heather’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re doing well. Just forget about the letter thing, okay? Stress will give you lines.”

Nodding, Heather turned away, her face feeling oddly warm from the contact. A part of her recognized Heather’s tactics—she’d had the same ones since high school—but they still worked.

Life as a closeted celebrity was hard, and Heather had to savor little bits of contact from women whenever she got them. Somehow, Heather had picked up on this and now her little touches were hoarded like coins and tossed out as a reward when Heather did something right.

“Goodnight.” Heather shuffled away into her room, feeling warm and sick and lonely and electric. Her stomach churned, but Heather hadn’t eaten enough to try to get rid of the nausea the only way she knew how.

Instead, she slipped out of the heavy, beautiful dress she’d worn all night and settled into bed, begging herself to get the rest she knew she needed. She slept fitfully, waking several times throughout the night with the prickling feeling of being watched, even knowing it wasn’t possible.  

Nightmares plagued her whether she was awake or asleep, so she climbed out of bed, tossing her oldest, softest bathrobe over her pajamas and went downstairs. When her favorite film was flickering over the screen in her office, Heather finally settled down enough to think she might be able to sleep.

* * *

JD and Veronica were, by their standards, rich.

Sometimes, Veronica remembered that both of them—JD more than her—had come from wealth, because it was almost impossible to believe it now. Now, they got excited when they could afford to buy name brand coffee and eggs to scramble into their ramen noodles.

They’d been paid for their two sketchy jobs, and the money had bought them just a little more time to keep their office and their home. What remained wasn’t enough to save for anything significant—like the car they would need if they got evicted—so they spent it on food and ate like very broke, unhealthy kings while sitting on their pullout couch.

 Veronica set her bowl aside and leaned into JD. “This is the life.”

“Yeah it is,” He smiled down at her in a way that was just slightly too affectionate.

She moved away. “It’s weird when you think about it.”

“What?” JD’s full attention was on what remained of his dinner and he barely glanced at her.

Veronica shrugged, unsure of how to explain what was happening in her head; with JD she rarely had to. “Is this the life you thought you would live?”

“Absolutely not,” JD answered without hesitation. “I thought I knew what my life would be.”

“Since when?” Veronica snorted.

“I thought I would be like her,” JD said quietly. “We were going to do a movie together.”

Mentions of his mother were so rare that Veronica stopped short, treading carefully through the thin-ice conversation. Any second, JD might shut down and stop speaking altogether. “Really?”

He nodded. “There was a role for a mother and son, and she really wanted it. I never… I don’t know if she got it.”

Veronica had always thought that JD had hated every second of his very brief acting career, the fact that he’d once thought it was his whole future was completely shocking. “I didn’t—”

“It probably would have sucked anyway. I didn’t really like acting when I was doing it on my own.”

Touching was against their arbitrary rules unless it was necessary, but nothing seemed more necessary to Veronica than this did right now. JD looked like he was drifting out to sea, lost in memories too complicated to label with any one emotion.

She put her hand on his shoulder, moving it up to caress his jaw when he didn’t react.

Finally, after too many long seconds he leaned into her. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“We aren’t doing anything,” Veronica said, though she knew what he meant.

“Exactly. We do nothing until shit happens and then whatever this is starts to bleed through the cracks in our defenses.”

“I’m not defensive!” Veronica snapped, crossing her arms.

“Of course not.” JD turned his back to her, and Veronica could almost see his shoulders icing over.

She let the silence sit for a moment, fighting the urge to say something—anything—to put things back to normal.

Eventually, her stubbornness died out. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? But after last time, you know—”

“Yeah, I know. Do you ever wonder though… that if we can’t work together, who the hell will we be with?”

“God you’re a downer tonight,” Veronica said. “Want some vodka?” _Change the topic. Deflect. Don’t answer him._

_Are we going to die alone?_

“Yes, please.”

Shoving her thoughts aside, she stood, narrowly avoiding falling out of the bed while she tried to avoid climbing over the loosest of the old springs. With the vodka retrieved, she returned to her seat, not bothering with glasses, which would only make for more dishes.

JD took the bottle first, coughing a little after a slightly too large swallow. “Christ, that’s gross.”

“It’s the best we can afford,” Veronica said. “Which means a client gave it to us as a gift.”

“Did he hate us? I think I just drank drain cleaner.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Sorry that it isn’t fancy enough for you, rich boy.” She took a long sip, barely reacting to the bitter sting of it.

He glared. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I grew up on shit like this,” Veronica said, stepping over the minefield of mentioning his past. She’d had her first drink at fifteen years old, a bit of cheap vodka swiped from a friend’s liquor cabinet. Since then, it had been her go-to stress relief in times of crisis.

JD had been raised on better—and stronger—stuff; his downturn in financial status had forced him to lower his tastes and his expectations.  

“The trick is to get past your instinctive desire not to swallow poison. Once you can beat the impulse to spit it out, you’ll be fine,” She said, demonstrating easily.  

His face twisted as he fought a smile. “You know it sounds like you’re talking about something completely different, right?”

Veronica pursed her lips, adopting a prim expression that felt very wrong on her face. “You would know.”

JD shrugged, unoffended. “Damn right I would.”

 Mildly irritated that she hadn’t managed to annoy him, Veronica considered trying to find another way to take a dig at him, but came up empty. As tempting as it was, she wasn’t in the mood for teasing. His words kept coming back to her and thoughts she preferred to keep buried were trying to surface.

Would it be alright to try again? Could she and JD somehow make it work this time around?

Grabbing the vodka from JD, Veronica took several large swallows, thrilled that they burned going down, making her eyes water. _Stop thinking._

She had to get those ideas out of her head if she wanted to keep from going insane. Considering her relationship with JD was a recipe for headache and heartache, and Veronica had enough of both of those without adding more.

If JD’s thoughts were along the same lines as hers, he didn’t let on, or perhaps getting drunk and wondering whether or not they were going to die alone was so commonplace that Veronica couldn’t see any change in his expression.

“We’re still in deep with the bills,” JD said, back to being depressing.

Veronica took another sip of vodka. “We might as well get drunk about it; there’s nothing else we can do.”

In other moods, Veronica knew that JD would offer suggestions, and tomorrow he would probably have half a dozen new plans to save their stupid little business, but tonight he just took the bottle from her and drank more. He stared at the wall, drunk and lost.  

* * *

“Heather, are you done yet?” Heather called from outside the bathroom. Heather could picture her tapping her toes in that distinct attitude of the wealthy, well-dressed, and impatient.

But this didn’t change the fact that Heather was still occupied. She leaned over the toilet and vomited again, feeling sweat bead at her brow and knowing she would get hell from Heather if her makeup ran.

She retched again, relieved when nothing came up. It was over. She was still shaking, and probably would be for another couple of minutes, but her hands would steady and—with a little more makeup—there would be no trace that she’d ever been on her knees in a bathroom desperately ridding herself of the day’s lunch.

After touching up her makeup in the mirror and rinsing out her mouth, Heather stepped outside.

Heather and Heather were staring at her as if waiting for something.

“Sorry,” Heather said reflexively, not sure what she was sorry for, only that it seemed to be what they wanted to hear.

Satisfied, they peeled themselves off of the wall and Heather set her phone aside to leave the building. They’d been at a trendy new café for an interview about the miniseries that had just aired, for which Heather had earned a couple of shout-out nominations for various smaller awards for her supporting role.

Though this didn’t satisfy Heather—“A good agent is never satisfied, Heather”—Heather did feel a little personal and professional pride about it, and it had been nice to talk about the project and make little hints about what she would be doing next.

Interviews were her favorite part of the job; she loved talking about her work and there had been a wild sort of pride at being able to suggest her upcoming part would be far more significant.

Though she hated the cliché, Heather knew that this was finally her ‘big break’ and she vowed that she would be ready for the massive changes that were coming.

“Has Megan picked up my mail?” Heather asked, attempting to be casual.

Heather’s expression flickered strangely. “Yes. All normal, don’t worry.”

“No… unusual letters?”

“I thought we were going to forget about the letters, _Heather_.” There was danger in her tone.

“Right, but—”

“Heather. Stop.”

Her mouth closed slowly, almost against her will, but she always followed Heather’s orders. The letters were no longer her concern.

But that didn’t mean they stopped concerning her. They hovered at the edges of her thoughts over the next couple of days while she and Heather McNamara worked tirelessly to get her ready for the awards show she’d been nominated for. It was a smaller budget indie affair, but there would be enough press coverage that Heather could get some attention, so they were going all out.

Not that Heather had a mode other than all out. She had two hundred thousand Instagram followers and she refused to disappoint a single one of them with a bad outfit on herself or Heather.

Heather Chandler, having finalized everything they would need to start Heather’s next film, joined them on the day of the show to nitpick flaws and lecture Heather.

“This is a big deal. Meet everyone, talk to as many people as possible. Suck it up and flirt with some of the guys.”

“Heather—” She stopped. Heather already knew she was gay, what was the point of mentioning it again? It only ever exasperated her.

Continuing as if she hadn’t spoken, Heather said, “This is our shot, Heather. You cannot fuck it up. _Strike the Sun_ is going to be iconic, and you’re going to be apart of that forever.”

Heather shivered just thinking about it. _Strike the Sun_ was hers. Her triumph, her opportunity, her white whale, so long fought for and finally realized.

Laughing slightly at the apropos comparison, Heather did a little spin, flaring her dress out so she could see the way it moved. “What do you think, Heather?”

The dress was one of very few things that Heather designed herself. Normally she styled from other designers, but for this dress, she had— according to her—awoken from a dream with this exact dress in mind, and knew that it had to be the one Heather wore.

Of the three of them, only Heather indulged in horoscopes or dream analysis, but she put lots of weight in both, and had on more than one occasion refused to leave the house because Jupiter was in the wrong house and she knew it would be a terrible day. To Heather, a dream like the one she’d had was tantamount to a message from God, and she’d had to create the exact same dress.

The result was undeniably stunning. The dramatic skirt lifted around Heather like inky green storm clouds, swirling around her wherever she turned and a plunging neckline revealed Heather’s pale skin.

“It’s perfect,” Heather breathed, running a reverent hand over the fabric. “Be careful with it, Heather.”

“Of course,” Heather agreed easily. It seemed hard to imagine that anything bad could happen while wearing something like this to the event of her dreams.

 

 


	3. Girl With California Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added 200 words in the editing process and I'm still not sure this is good. Please let me know what you think. Enjoy!

Heather was shaking all day. She tried to get ahold of her nerves, but none of her usual tricks worked. She was trapped in a permanent state of tense anxiety, waiting to be ready to leave.

It was an hours long process of getting ready. Hair and makeup and spa treatments. It was nice to be pampered, but Heather would have given anything to be able to pace the floor and get some of this energy out.

“Heather, I brought your mail for you to look at while she’s working on your toes,” Megan said, practically skipping into the room.

Megan was one of those effortlessly cheerful people, which neatly hid the ruthless streak required of anyone who wanted to make it in this industry, even if it was as an agent rather than an actor.

“Thank you,” Heather said fervently, glad for any distraction. “How are your roommates?”

Megan smiled. “They’re good. It’s been a little weird since Veronica moved out, but we’re making it work.”

Heather nodded. At one point, Megan had four roommates—including one that crashed on the couch and borrowed space in people’s closets—and Heather had never managed to keep track of them. “What happened to her?”

“I think she moved in with her boyfriend.” Megan tossed her hair—once a dark green than had faded to gray—over her shoulder and shrugged. “They had a weird relationship.”

“I kind of miss having roommates,” Heather remarked absently, glancing down at the envelopes in her hands. She froze, her eyes fixed on the neatly typed address.

Megan breathed in sharply. “Oh… Um, who did you live with?” There was so much desperation in her voice that Heather knew immediately she was trying to distract her.

“Megan,” Heather said slowly, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

Heather closed her eyes. Her stomach roiled, the handful of nuts she’d eaten for lunch suddenly sitting badly. “Did Heather ask you to hide the letters from me?” She had noticed their absence, but had been so busy preparing for tonight that she hadn’t had time to dwell on it.

She didn’t wait for Megan’s nervous nod. “How many?”

“It wasn’t—”

“How many, Megan?” Heather had no patience for this. Her temper flared and her stomach turned over, souring her mood further. “How. Many.”

“Three! I didn’t read them, I don’t know what they said. Heather told me to shred them. I think she was just worried—”

“I don’t care what she wanted. Why didn’t you ask me?” Underneath the anger, Heather felt a note of betrayal that stung. She had thought Megan was her friend.

But Megan straightened her spine and adjusted her glasses, her face suddenly a perfect mask. “No offense, Heather, but I work for Heather. She told me to shred the letters and not to mention it to you. I did what she said.”

Heather crumpled in the face of her impassivity and nodded. She barely managed to summon the will to hold onto the letter she still had. “You can go.”

Megan nodded. “Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks.”

When she was alone, Heather wiped one tear away before she took a long, deep breath and forced her anger and pain and disappointment down. She still felt ill but she fought the urge to run to the bathroom and vomit. She couldn’t ruin all the hard work that had already been dedicated to making her beautiful, and besides, she hadn’t eaten enough for it to be anything other than painful.

Instead—because her mood couldn’t possibly get worse—Heather opened the letter.

_Tonight._

The single, unadorned word sat on top of the page, daring Heather to interpret it. She didn’t dare. She didn’t want to think that something might happen tonight, but her heart was already pounding, responding to thoughts she refused to have.

What would happen tonight?

 _Nothing,_ She insisted to herself firmly, _Nothing will happen tonight_.

But still, fear followed her as her makeup was done and she donned the beautiful dress and climbed into her limo. Doors slamming startled her, people coming up behind her made her skin crawl, and by the time she was on the red carpet, she felt like a mess.

Cameras flashed around her and people shouted her name, calling her attention from all angles. She could only see vague, human-like shapes though all the lights and every one of them looked sinister.

Tonight. Tonight. Tonight.

Each beat of her heart echoed the word, and Heather found herself looking over her shoulder, looking for someone who didn’t belong. Looking for someone who would send cryptic letters.

Nobody stood out, but that didn’t set Heather’s mind at ease, and she replied mechanically to questions about what she was wearing and how thrilled she was to be nominated.

“It’s an honor, really,” Heather said forcing a smile that felt like a crack in her face. “I’m very lucky to be here.”

The host nodded, his smile bored and rather vacant. “Well, Heather, it’s been lovely talking to you, good luck tonight!”

“Thank you.” She moved on, sidling away and trying to focus on anything but the feeling of eyes on her back.  

The feeling wouldn’t leave her as she chatted and smiled, feeling like she was only half present at what should have been one of the best nights of her life.

 _What if I win?_ She thought. How could she possibly give an acceptance speech like this? The day before she had sat down to write out what she wanted to say, but she had abandoned the effort after thanking Heather and Heather. Her win was a longshot anyway, so there was hardly any need, and at the time she had expected to be fully immersed in the moment.

She never would have predicted this heavy paranoia and would never have thought anything could have distracted her from this.

But faces blurred past her, and as time moved slowly around her, Heather found herself sitting in an assigned seat, watching the hosts banter, and feeling entirely separate from every other living thing in the room.

_Tonight._

_When?_ She wanted to ask, but the disembodied voice in her mind would have no answer for her.

She went through the show like an automaton, clapping at the appropriate moments and smiling as much as possible.

When best supporting actress in a miniseries was called, Heather managed to feel a flutter of excitement. Clips were played of each actress in their show—Heather thought they hadn’t picked her best one, the clearest thought she’d managed in hours—and the hosts opened the envelope.

It was the longest breath of Heather’s life. She wished the could read the name in their expression, and searched their faces for a giveaway but found none. They smiled inscruitiably and leaned into the microphone.

What she felt most when she realized that they had not called her name was the complete absence of feeling. No disappointment, no rush of tears, no mourning.

Heather felt nothing.

The smile had come back onto her face, and she was grateful for it as she stood to clap for the winning actress, some British woman Heather hadn’t heard of. 

When emotions first started trickling back in, Heather found the expected disappointment, but her anxiety from before didn’t return, as though this loss surpassed that abstract fear.

She had not expected to win, but this thought didn’t comfort her. Secretly, she knew that she had been hopeful and eager. She smoothed a slight wrinkle in the skirt of her dress, finding some satisfaction in making the little flaw go away.

_What will Heather say?_

Technically, Heather had no right to say anything, but that wasn’t how she generally did things. In a good mood, she might just rant about rigged systems and swear violently about the voters’ and their families, but in a worse one, this would be Heather’s fault.

She hadn’t tried hard enough.

She hadn’t smiled enough.

She hadn’t _been_ enough.

Heather found that she didn’t want to go home, and though the thought of walking out on another red carpet for more photos and a limo to an afterparty made her feel sick, it was better than facing Heather’s disapproval and Heather’s disappointment.

_Why couldn’t you win? I wanted to see my dress onstage._

_I’m sorry, Heather. I’m sorry, Heather._

With that, the fear came back. It crashed over her suddenly as soon as she set foot outside.

Cameras flashed. People were talking. Voices everywhere.

“Heather! Look here!”

“Heather, smile!”

“Heather, how do you feel?”

“I’m… It’s…” Heather turned again, looking for the person who’d asked the question.

“Look at me!”

That caught her attention and she turned. Something about the voice had been too harsh, almost angry, demanding. “Who said that?” 

It was an odd thing to say. Questions were for the reporters; Heather was supposed to have smiles and answers, but she found she was empty of both.

“Heather!”

It was the same voice, but somewhere else. She wheeled to identify it, but more cameras flashed in her face, blinding her.

She put her hands up to block the light, choking on a sob.

Her distress was like blood in the water and the photographers were sharks. The shouting only got worse and she lost all track of out of place voice.

It was all too much, and she fled down the carpet, practically diving into the safety of her limo.

“Please take me home,” She begged, feeling deep, aching sobs build in her chest.

It had been years since she’d allowed herself to really wail, and she would have liked to have never done so again, but this wasn’t the sort of feeling that could be stopped.

Ori, unflinching, drove her home without comment.

Heather’s hands shook as she reached for the door, fumbling with it as she tried to get out. Before she managed to free herself, Ori opened the door and she toppled towards him.

Lifting her gently to her feet, he walked her inside with a hand on her elbow.

The rustle of dry leaves startled her, and Heather jerked back to look behind her.

Had he followed her home?

“Miss Heather, come inside,” Ori urged, tugging her towards the door.

She followed reluctantly, tossing one last look over her shoulder at the churning darkness.

Heather was waiting for her when she got through the door. Ori disappeared tactfully, probably to go home and avoid the blustering tirade that was about to begin.

Heather flinched, trying to brace herself.

“You stupid _fuck_ ,” Heather said emphatically. “Do you have any explanation for why I’m fielding calls about your mental breakdown? In public!”

An apology made its way to her lips, but Heather couldn’t find the strength to say it. She ducked her head and let Heather continue.

“Do you have any idea how hard I worked to get you where you are? And now people are rushing to report about your meltdown. _Rising star Heather Duke falls apart on red carpet._ What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

 _You ruined everything._ The words weren’t spoken aloud, but they might as well have been.

“And now, _Strike the Sun_ might be off the table, because Marsha just called me wanting to ‘Check in’ on you. She came up with some bullshit about being worried, but you know she just wanted to know if you were off your shit.”

Marsha was directing _Strike,_ and Heather had been her particular favorite for the role. It was thanks to her that Heather was getting her big chance. The panic rose again, suffocating Heather for a moment.

Everything was ending.

_Tonight._

“I was scared!” Heather said. The words came out strangled.

Heather stopped, seeming irritated at the interruption. “Scared.” She was clearly suppressing an eye roll. “Of what?”

“The… they guy who writes the letters—”

“I told—”

Heather kept going, ignoring the interruption; this would be her only chance to speak. “He sent me a letter that said ‘Tonight’ I.. there was someone weird in the crowd. I thought it was him and I got scared.”

She didn’t bother suppressing this eye roll. “Do you really think you’re big enough for a stalker?”

“I… No, it’s not—”

As quickly as Heather’s rage had risen up, it fell, and she stepped forward, laying her hand on Heather’s shoulder. “I know you’ve been stressed lately; I should have seen this coming.”

“No, it’s not—”

 “You should go get some rest. I’ll see what I can do about getting this under control and then tomorrow we’ll get you an appointment with a psychiatrist.”

“I’m not crazy,” Heather insisted. “I don’t feel safe. I want to take the letters to the police!”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Heather said, sounding like an overly patient third grade teacher. “The letters aren’t threats though, Heather. Maybe it’s a weird fan, but there’s no reason to believe the tried to hurt you, or even that anyone was at the show tonight.”

Feeling like she was in danger of receiving a pat on her head, Heather straightened her shoulder and gritted her teeth. “Fine. We won’t go to the police, but I want a bodyguard.”

Heather opened her mouth to argue, but Megan poked her head around the corner. “I might be able to help with that.”

* * *

“How the hell are we going to get clients with no phone?” Veronica glanced at the now useless phone on their desk, just to look away from JD’s pacing.

“I’ll change the website to our cell numbers, I mean, who uses landlines anyway?” He crossed the room and returned again, dragging his hand through his hair. It was a study in Stressed JD, and a situation Veronica had become very familiar with in the past few years.

“The wifi went with the phone, JD.”

“Fuck.” He didn’t stop moving.

Veronica sighed. “You’re going to wear through the floor.” Given how shitty this building was and how bad their luck was, it seemed entirely possible.

He stilled, but only for a second. “I’ll go to the coffee shop around the corner and pretend I’m waiting for a date if anyone asks. I can do it there.”

“No rush,” Veronica sat, dropping into the desk chair. “It’s not like anyone is dying to get ahold of us.”

JD crossed the room and knelt in front of her. “Don’t be like that. We’ll get more clients, we’ll pay what we owe the phone company, and we’ll get back on track.”

She laughed and leaned forward to put her head on his shoulder, a headache throbbing at the back of her head. “JD, we’re sunk. This is just the first thing to go.”

Really the first thing to go had been JD’s rent, then Veronica’s, then their food and alcohol fund, then gas for the motorcycle, and _then_ the phone had gone. It was just the most recent in a long line of losses.

They both knew all of that, so there was no need to rehash it. JD bent his head in and pressed a kiss against her hair. She didn’t try to cite the rules at him. Rotating her head slightly, she kissed him, soft and encouraging.

“Are we really doing this?” He breathed, more gently than the words suggested.

Veronica shrugged. Their financial situation was getting to be so fucked up, complicated and stressful that their fucked up, complicated, and stressful relationship seemed easier to comprehend. 

Accepting that half-answer, JD kissed her back, resting his hand on the back of her hair.

The knock on the door jerked them apart and the old desk chair skidded back on rusted wheels, nearly toppling Veronica onto the floor.

She leapt to her feet as the door opened, sure she looked flustered, awkward, and uncomfortable.

The woman who entered was strikingly pretty, so much so that for a couple long seconds, Veronica couldn’t place how she recognized her. She had seen this face before and knew that—though it was tied back— her hair was long and thick, a shade of red so bright and distinct it had to be natural.

The woman’s name escaped, her, but Veronica was sure she was a celebrity of some kind and had been on the cover of one gossip magazine or another that she’d seen on a newsstand while walking.

She was impossible to miss, striking even in ordinary clothes with her hair tied back, her eyes wide and stunning, though they were darting around the dingy office rather than settling on Veronica or JD.

Two taller women flanked her, one with a thick mass of blond curls and an imperious expression that seemed to be disgusted with everything she saw. The other was dark skinned and intimidatingly pretty with short white hair and similarly judgmental dark eyes.

Another woman poked her head out from behind them, her eyes shining behind enormous wire glasses.

“Megan?” Veronica said, relieved that one face was both familiar and welcome.

Her former roommate stepped forward quickly and hugged her before ducking back to stand in the shadow of the disgusted woman.

The redhead stepped forward. “I’m Heather Duke,” She said, holding out a hand in JD and Veronica’s general direction.

Veronica was still too confused to remember basic social rules, so JD stepped forward and clasped her hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Duke. Can we um.. help you?”

Two expressions chased each other across Heather’s face as she met JD’s eyes. “You’re Jason Dean,” She breathed, sounding awed and as though she hadn’t meant to say the words out loud.

“Really?” The imperious blond said slowly, her disgust flagging in favor of interest. “How nice to meet you. I see you didn’t decide to go into the family business? _Either_ of them.”

“I didn’t.” JD said shortly, surprising Veronica when he didn’t try to deny his real name.

Heather seemed to know enough about JD to realize that this conversation would rapidly become personal and uncomfortable. She backed away. “We tried to call ahead, but the phone…”

“We’re having some trouble with the phone company,” Veronica said smoothly, recovering so that JD—whose jaw was twitching—could have a second. “Thank you for coming by.”

 _What do you want?_ Veronica was desperate to ask—it seemed impossibly strange that this woman would come into their shitty office, looking as out of place as a flower in a parking garage, but she held her tongue.

The normal, businesslike reply seemed to relax Heather slightly. “I’m Heather,” She repeated, “And this is Heather Chandler, my agent, and Heather McNamara, my stylist. We came to enquire about your services.”

“As bodyguards or investigators?” They hadn’t done much—or any—protection work, but it was offered on their badly designed website.

Heather Chandler opened her mouth to say something, but Heather cut her off. “Both.”

JD returned to the conversation, his interest piqued. Veronica’s wasn’t sure whether that was a bad thing or not. A true Hollywood case like this would hit close to home for him, and Veronica—despite their monetary desperation—would rather not take it than risk him spiraling.

“Can I ask why?” He said, his expression unreadable, even to Veronica.

Finally, Heather Chandler managed to get her word in. “Heather has been feeling very stressed lately and she got it into her head that someone is threatening her. It’s probably a misunderstanding but of course it’s very important that she feels safe.”

The way Heather emphasized ‘feels’ made Veronica’s skin crawl, and she noticed the muscle twitching in JD’s jaw again.  

“I’ve gotten these… letters,” Heather said hesitantly, before Heather could go on. “There’s something off about them and they made me nervous. Whoever is sending them might have been… Well, I’m not really sure. Like Heather said, I’ve been stressed—”

“Do you think you’re in danger?” JD asked flatly, cutting her off.

Heather nodded slowly. “Yes. I think so.”

“Do you have any of the letters?” His expression was almost suspiciously empty, and Veronica knew his mind was working a mile a minute underneath the surface.

Heather shook her head, her eyes darting away. “I didn’t bring them. I have one, but the others are… gone.”

Heather Chandler’s gray eyes were flinty, giving away so little that Veronica was sure she knew exactly what happened to the letters that had disappeared. Megan’s guilty lack of eye contact confirmed Veronica’s suspicions.

JD nodded, considering. Veronica watched him, wishing she could know what he was thinking. In their many years together, she had managed to learn many of his tells, but there were times when even she couldn’t guess what was going on in his unpredictable brain.

“Last night, I think this person was at an awards show I attended. I…”

“Lost your mind?” The white-haired Heather muttered.

Coolly, Chandler took a magazine out of her bag and waved it at Veronica until she took it.

“The Mad Duke?” The title screamed in bright yellow text, over a picture of Heather cowering and hiding her tear streaked face, a dark patch of ink-green amid the red-carpet sea.

JD glanced at it over her shoulder, several expressions flitting across his face before he carefully hid them, much to Veronica’s irritation.

With a case like this, she knew he would either be all for it or completely, perfectly against it. There was no in-between with JD, especially when it came to the film industry and everyone involved in it.

“If something is wrong,” Chandler said, not exactly stressing the ‘if’ but drawing attention to it somehow, “Of course we’d like to know what it is and stop it. And we need it done discreetly. We can’t have people calling Heather crazy, not right now.”

 “You said this person sent you a letter telling you they would be at the show?” JD asked.

“Yes! I can show it to you,” Heather said, sounding slightly desperate. “I just have to get it. If you can meet me another time—” Her eyes pleaded with them, and Veronica wanted to reach out and pull her over to their side of the office.

“We believe you,” Veronica said smoothly. “It’s just a matter of the timing. We have a couple other clients that are taking our time right now—” Refusing, even starting to refuse, was painful, but she wasn’t about to risk JD, who was clearly thinking hard about something. Until she knew what it was, she wouldn’t take the chance.

“Right, yes, of course you do. I can pay for your time, enough to… make my case a priority.” She held out her hand and Heather McNamara placed a checkbook into it.

She looked so confident holding that little book, and Veronica’s heart flipped. Their miracle had walked into their door, and she was about to let it walk out again. “We can’t just—”

Ignoring her, Heather scribbled something on the check and casually handed it to Veronica.

It was an absolutely staggering amount of money. It had a _comma_ , something Veronica hadn’t seen on anything that wasn’t a bill in ages.  

Heather’s smile was cool and beautiful. “That’s just a down payment. If we can get this matter worked out, I’ll obviously pay whatever your rates are.”

Wordlessly, Veronica handed the check to JD. She saw him swallow hard and fight to maintain a neutral expression.

He looked at Heather, past his many hangups with Hollywood and acting and agents.  And he nodded. “Of course we can prioritize you, Miss Duke. When can we meet to discuss the letters?”

Veronica tried not to gasp; she’d been sure JD was about to claim that they couldn’t be bought, or otherwise find a way to dismiss Heather, but he had put on his customer face and smiled, pocketing the check.

“Please, call me Heather,” She said. “And I’m free this evening if you’d like to have dinner? Unfortunately, it’ll have to be in my home, after what happened last night you’ll understand that I want to keep a low profile.”

JD nodded. “Absolutely.” He handed her one of their business cards, which Veronica was relieved to see didn’t look like it had been eaten by mice, which had happened to most of them.

“Thank you,” She said quietly. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

“Can we go, Heather?” Her agent said, tapping her foot. “This building is disgusting.”

Veronica heard JD snort and mutter, “You have no idea,” And had to hold in a laugh.

Heather nodded and turned to go, following Heather and Heather. She stopped at the door. “JD… Your mother was incredibly talented. I’m sorry.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Thank you.”

From the hallway, Veronica heard the stylist say, “Wait, is Jason Dean that guy who was in like, two movies and then he got—”

JD closed the door hard enough to rattle the office walls, rolling his eyes.

Veronica went to the desk to pick up the check again, expecting it to disappear.

He beamed. “Veronica… she’s our miracle.” In a surprising move, he hugged her so hard her feet came off the ground, spinning her slightly.  

She laughed, almost giggling in a way she hadn’t in what felt like years.

 “What should we do first?” He asked, as soon as she was back on her feet.

 Veronica shook her head, trying not to get too swept up in the moment, but still breathless with laughter. “Pay the rent. Maybe pay it out for the next couple months to save some trouble. Then the phone bill so we can keep pretending it was a company issue.”

“And then we go on a bender and buy name brand food?” JD asked.

Veronica looked up at him, beaming and feeling oddly close to tears. “And then we go on a bender.”  


	4. Screwed Up and Scared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried really hard to to write a passive aggressive authors note, then realized that without the passive aggression I really had nothing to say. Comments are always appreciated. Enjoy!

“JD?” Veronica asked, looking up from the filing cabinet she used as a dresser, “Do you think Heather might be gay?”

 “Doesn’t matter. She’s a client, Ron,” He replied, not looking up from his book.  

“I know that, but do you think… maybe?”

JD shrugged. “I’m not sure. I didn’t notice her checking me out—”

“Like that means much.” Veronica snorted.

Unaffected, JD laughed. “I was going to say that that!”

“Did you notice her checking me out?”

It probably would have been kinder to let her down gently, but JD had other things on his mind. “No. All I noticed was her glancing back at her agent every four seconds like she needed her approval before she spoke.”

Veronica sighed heavily, crossing the room to push him out of the way so she could get on their decrepit laptop.

He tried to subtly look over her shoulder as she typed “Heather Duke Actress Gay,” into a search engine and skimmed the results.

“She’s been on dates with men,” Veronica said, while JD pretended not to care. “But she doesn’t seem to be having that much fun, do you think? And anyway she might still be into girls.”

The picture—and Heather’s expression— gave away very little, in JD’s opinion. “You don’t look like you’re having fun on every date you go on,” He pointed out.

For a moment she almost agreed with him, but then she thought over his words. “What do you mean? How would you know?”

 _Shit._ He searched for excuses—would she believe that he just happened to be in the neighborhood?—but couldn’t think of anything plausible, so he opted for a defensive shrug.

 “Have you followed me on dates?”

“Just to make sure you’re safe! Men can be real trash sometimes—”

“And I can damn well take care of myself, which you know!” Veronica insisted.

Glaring back at her, he stood his ground. “So you’ve never followed me on a date?” He had suspected having her on his tail a couple times, though sometimes he wondered if he was being paranoid.

Veronica hesitated before huffing out a sigh. “Once or twice, casually.”

To JD, this was as good as her admitting that he’d won, and he smiled. He had mostly started the conversation to get her away from thinking about a client as a potential girlfriend, but winning an argument was a nice bonus.

Veronica, apparently aware of his thought process, changed the subject. “You need to change your shirt before we go to Heather’s; she’s fancy, remember?”  

JD looked down at his shirt. “This is all I have.”

“No it isn’t,” Veronica insisted, “You have the green one, right?”

“It tore when we were running from that guy after that case a few weeks back.”

Veronica frowned. “What about the white one?”

He hated that shirt, but it had been his dressiest one. “It got blood on it in the bar fight.”

“Christ, JD, you only have one shirt?”

“At the moment. Once we cash Heather’s check I’ll find a couple new ones.”

“You’d better.” Veronica returned to her filing cabinet and must have lowered her standards, because she tossed a patchwork jacket over a tank top and turned to him. “Ready?”

He didn’t think he was, but he stood up anyway, tossing his coat on.

Veronica gave the coat a less than subtle look of disapproval, but she didn’t say anything. He knew it probably made more of a statement than he wanted to, but the old thing felt like armor, and he thought he would need it tonight.

Heather didn’t live in the sort of neighborhood into which one could take a bike, so they used the last of their personal cash reserves to gas up the bike and ride out there. For JD, it felt like a last moment of freedom before returning to a world he thought he’d escaped long ago.

Veronica wasn’t feeling nearly as broody as he was, and seemed more than a little excited as they pulled up the long driveway to the modern white house. It had plenty of stairs and windows and looked nice, if a little impersonal. Stone gardens full of succulents lined the stairs in neat rows leading up to a huge black door.

“Fancy place,” Veronica muttered.

“Let’s case it, just in case this job doesn’t work out,” JD responded before raising his hand to knock.

The door swung open before he had a chance, revealing a very eager Heather, now dressed casually in jeans and a t shirt, her hair pulled back and a pencil shoved through it.

JD watched as surprise, confusion, and the unmistakable panic of a new crush crossed Veronica’s face in rapid succession.

 _This isn’t going to end well,_ He thought, with less bitterness than he would have expected. He often dreaded Veronica starting new relationships, especially when the two of them seemed on the verge of working out their issues. Of course, he’d never been right about how close they were to working out their issues before. This crush, however, was so obviously doomed to fail that JD couldn’t help but feel bad for Veronica in advance. If Heather was into girls, something JD wasn’t convinced of, she was deep in the closet, probably for the sake of her career. For the duration of the job, she and Veronica would be able to make excuses when they were seen together, but it could never last.

 _Hollywood ruins lives,_ He wanted to remind Veronica, feeling a stab of pity for both her and Heather.

Heather invited them in with a smile, apparently not noticing Veronica’s expression. “I have the letters in my office, but dinner is ready so we should do that first. How was your drive?”

“Not too bad.”

“Traffic wasn’t a nightmare?” Heather asked, looking over her shoulder as JD and Veronica followed her deeper into the house.

Everything was mostly decorated in white, with splashes of color in the form of vintage movie posters and abstract art. It was cold and impersonal, and—though he didn’t know her well—JD doubted Heather had had much to do with its decoration.

“The bike makes traffic easier,” JD said with a shrug, swiping at side table as he passed, checking for dust. The whole place was spotless.

The dining room was the same as the rest of the house. A massive driftwood table dominated the space, and windows lined the walls, looking out over the hills with a faint view of the ocean in the distance.

JD felt oddly choked up. It was functionally identical to the views he’d had out various childhood bedrooms as they’d moved from neighborhood to neighborhood, following other celebrities and their trends. 

The greasy office windows he shared with Veronica wouldn’t have shown them anything of much interest even if they had been clean enough to see through. It was a tangled mix of good and bad memories, and he turned away from the window to try and block them out. Dwelling on old wounds wouldn’t help anyone.

He had to focus on unclenching his fists as he looked back towards the table.

“I’m not much of a cook,” Heather apologized, “So I had to order something in. I hope this is okay?”

The spread was impressive, and looked like it was from some upscale Japanese restaurant that JD doubted did regular delivery.

He tried not to look too much like a man who had recently returned from being shipwrecked when he sat down and started filling his plate. “It looks fantastic, thank you Heather.”

Though he typically preferred to keep all clients on a strictly last name basis, it felt natural to call Heather by her first name. He doubted she was any older than they were, and—though this was probably JD being optimistic—in another life they might have been fast friends.

Under the circumstances, however, dinner was a little awkward. It was clear that Heather knew about his past, and possible that she wanted to ask him about his mother or his brief film career or his arrest, but the standard rules of social acceptability prevented her from doing so. Veronica was left trying to make small talk, which wasn’t her strong suit.

JD knew he should be helping, but he was too busy observing Heather. Reading her, he knew, would be a very important part of this case. The first thing he realized was that she only ate when she caught him staring at her. She took small bites and chewed each one for a very long time, as though it was difficult for her to swallow.

She was thin, but most actresses were, and JD didn’t want to read into it too much, but something about the… care with which she ate set off alarm bells in his mind.

He also noticed that Veronica was not assessing Heather the way he was as they chatted about nothing in particular. She was warmer, not just warmer than she was with most clients, but warmer than she was with most people.

Desperate to rein the conversation back to the business, JD asked, “Do you have any security for the house?”

Heather looked surprised. “Yes, of course. There’s a camera on the door and alarms on everything. Only Heather, Heather, and I have the keys and the codes for the alarms. And the letters don’t go to my house, they go to a PO box at my agency. There’s no way this guy knows where I live.”

“I hope you’re right,” JD said. He looked at Veronica, silently asking her thoughts.

“You said the letters aren’t threatening, but—”

“Why did I hire you if they’re just letters?” Heather smiled wryly. “I’m not sure, to be honest. There’s just something about them that makes me feel… wary, I guess.” Her discomfort looked like more than wariness.

 Veronica nodded. “That’s understandable. Do you have any pets or have you considered getting a dog for additional security?”

“I wish I could, but Heather is allergic and Heather hates dogs so they’d never let me. They spend almost as much time here as I do.”

JD couldn’t hold in a small snort, but he avoided saying that Heather was an adult and should be able to get a damn pet if she wanted one.

Heather shifted, as though she was aware of his thoughts and embarrassed. “I have to excuse myself for a moment, I’ll be right back to show you the letters.” She stood up and walked out of the room with the tension of someone who was about to break into a run.

“Do you think she’s okay?” Veronica asked, watching her leave.

“That was weird.” He glanced between her mostly full dinner plate and the door she’d vanished through. The food had been cut neatly into tiny pieces, but little had actually been eaten.

Veronica followed his eye line and chewed on her lip. “Do you think…”

“I’m not sure.” All the signs were there

Satisfied, Veronica nodded. “I hope we can help her.”

“That’s a little above our pay-grade, Ron. She needs—”

“Jason Dean, are you about to recommend therapy? How out of character.” Veronica smiled slightly, but JD still flinched a little at the sound of his full name, even as a joke.

He changed the subject to avoid answering her. “I need to see those letters. I have a weird feeling about all this.”

“You have a weird feeling about everything. You think every case is the one where we dig up a big conspiracy like some fucking action movie.”

“It’s bound to happen one day,” JD insisted. He firmly believed that all Hollywood people were hiding things, and though Heather seemed nice, and far more the victim than the villain, he didn’t want to overlook the possibility that she’d gotten involved in something.

Heather walked back into the room and they both stopped talking in a way that hopefully wasn’t suspicious at all. She barely seemed to notice. Her eyes were glassy and her hands were trembling.

JD stood, stepping closer in case she passed out. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” Heather said brightly, a smile plastered on her pale, slightly sweaty face. “If you’re done eating, I can show you the letters; they’re in my office.”

Exchanging a worried glance with Veronica, JD followed Heather towards the back of the house and into a comfortable office with a large desk.

He stopped in his tracks, suddenly feeling as though he’d been punched in the stomach.

* * *

Veronica was sure she’d seen photos of JD’s mom before, though only on the very rare occasions where he actually managed to talk about her and pull up a photo of her online. As far as she knew, he didn’t keep any pictures of her. Out of respect, she’d never tried to watch any of her movies, but the temptation had always been there.

The fact that he hadn’t been prepared for this photo seemed to have completely frozen him, and he stared at his mother’s face for several long seconds before he to Heather. He didn’t say anything, just looked from her to the photo in silent shock.

Veronica stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. _Are you okay?_

He shrugged her off and stepped forward to pick the photo up, staring at it like he thought it might move if he just looked hard enough. _No._

“I wrote her a letter when I was younger,” Heather explained haltingly. “She answered and sent me that. She was… very kind.”

JD just nodded, his eyes tired and lost.

“You look like her.”

Veronica looked at Heather sharply, wishing she could force the girl to take back her words. JD flinched.

She knew how much he hated being told that. The resemblance wasn’t—in her opinion—that strong, but there was a noticeable similarity in the jawline and the color of her eyes, which stared out from the picture, smiling and hollow. It was enough, however, that for a while it was all anyone talked about, especially after she had died.

“Where are the letters?” JD asked, his voice slightly hoarse.

“It was just one—”

“Your letters,” Veronica corrected, realizing what Heather thought he meant.

Heather’s eyes went wide. “Right. Yes, of course. Here they are.” She unlocked a drawer in her desk and pulled out a single plan envelope, with the address to her PO box typed in the center.

JD took it from her and slid the letter out. It was a single word typed on plain computer paper. Nothing about it was remarkable at all.

“There’s not much to go on here,” JD remarked, turning the paper over to examine the blank back. Before rereading the brief sentences that were vaguely menacing, but not outright threatening.

“The others had more words, but—”

“Heather, are you home?”

Veronica turned towards Megan’s voice, surprised that she’d gotten in. Had Heather mentioned her on the list of people who had keys?

“I’m in the office,” Heather called back.

Megan appeared, her thick, greenish hair floating around her face in a mess of curls and tangles. She was waving a letter. “Heather’s busy with damage control so I had time to bring this by, in case you needed it.”

JD took it from her gingerly. “Did you read it?”

“No, I recognized the look of it.”

He tilted his head. “What makes them unusual? How can you tell one of these letters from any of the others?”

“No return address,” Megan answered immediately. “Most of the letters Heather gets have addresses in case she wants to send a reply. These never do.”

Heather stretched out a shaking hand towards the letters.

“I can open it, Heather,” JD said. He tore the envelope open and pulled out a thick piece of paper.

“That’s different,” Heather said. “It was normal paper before.”

“It’s a photo,” Veronica said, taking it from JD so she could look at it. It was a full color photo of Heather. She wore a gorgeous dark green dress, but was facing away from the camara so that only a glimpse of her face in profile showed.

Veronica thought she looked nervous.

On the back of the page, someone had typed the words, _I saw you, but you didn’t look at me._

Heather shivered and Veronica stepped closer to her, almost on instinct. “What does it mean?”

“Maybe they know you?” JD suggested. “You didn’t see them, but it sounds like they think you should have.”

She shrugged and sank down into the desk chair. “There were a million people at that thing. I couldn’t possibly say hello to everyone I know, even if I hadn’t…” Heather stopped.

There was an awkward beat while everyone waited for her to finish. She didn’t.

“This doesn’t narrow it down much,” Veronica said, “But I don’t think it’s a photographer.”

“What makes you say that.

“This is the wrong kind of paper for a photo like this. It’s nicer than basic computer paper, but look at the way the colors kind of blend into each other. It’s not the way an artist or professional would show their work.”

“So they liked the picture enough to put it on nicer paper, but didn’t know the right kind to get?”

“Exactly.”

“Would that eliminate… say, a paparazzo?” Heather asked, peering over Veronica’s shoulder to look at the note.

Veronica tried hard not to be distracted by her nearness and the light floral scent that hung around her hair. “Um, yeah. That… probably.”

JD gave her a look, probably noticing her less-than-coherent response. He shook his head once, sharply. _She’s a client, Veronica._

She looked away from him, pretending she hadn’t noticed.  “Um, did you suspect that a paparazzo might be responsible?” Veronica asked.

Heather shook her head. “No. I have no idea who’s doing this, but it kind of makes sense; they have an excuse for following me around with a camera.”

“But this is the first picture you’ve gotten, right?” JD asked.

“Yes.”

He turned to Megan. “Make sure you give us all of these letters. We need to keep track of how often she gets them.”

“Heather told me to—”

“Please, Meg,” Veronica pleaded, “Just stash them somewhere during the day and give them to us.”

“Ron, I cannot lose this job, it’s my ticket!”

“You won’t lose your job,” Heather interrupted calmly. “I won’t let Heather fire you for saving the letters.”

Megan chewed her lip and looked away from Heather. “No offense, but you don’t really let Heather do things, it’s kind of the other way around.”

Veronica saw Heather’s lips tighten into a thin line and her eyes narrowed, but she failed to come up with a comeback.

“Give us the letters, Megan,” Veronica said, saving Heather. “This could be about Heather’s safety.”

Reluctantly, Megan nodded. “I’ll do my best. If I can’t save all of them, I’ll at least write down when she got them. How’s that?”

JD nodded. “Fine. Also, let us know if she gets any other creepy or weird letters, I doubt they’d be from the same person, but it’ll be good to know anyway.”

Veronica carefully hid her surprise; they hadn’t discussed wanting to look into the rest of Heather’s mail, and she had assumed they were only interested in letters from the creep that had sent the picture.

Megan slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll do my best.” She left, and there was a silence while the three of them listened to the door shut behind her.  

JD’s eyes darted again to the picture of his mother, and he glanced away like he couldn’t stand to look too long.

“Is that your dad?” Veronica asked, pointing to the other picture on the desk.

Heather smiled sadly. “Yes. He died when I was a teenager.”

“I’m so sorry,” Veronica whispered.

This news seemed to surprise JD, but his face folded into one of empathy. “It sucks,” He said, with a level of understanding Veronica doubted anyone who hadn’t felt a similar loss could manage.

 “Were you close?” Veronica asked, realizing they were off of topics that were relevant to the case, and not really caring.

Heather shrugged and shifted away. “I guess. I mean, it was just us. My mom left when I was a baby so… yeah. I was at school when he died; they had to wake me up and take me to the hospital… We had no other family so I had to handle it on my own.”

“Jesus Chris,” JD muttered.

She only nodded. “After that Heather and Heather were my family.”

As if summoned, the front door opened, and the sound of high heels echoed on the hardwood floors before Heather Chandler stepped into the office without knocking.

“Oh, they’re here. Well, I just dropped by to tell you that I got an interview. We’re rolling with the puking story to try and smooth out your little episode. You’re doing a Daytime Online interview with Grace Mannox. It’ll be posted to half a dozen sites to guarantee views.”

Veronica exchanged a look with JD, hoping Heather didn’t mean what she thought she meant.

Heather’s eyes were glued to the floor. “I’m not sure—”

“Heather.”

The single word stopped her dead.

“We’re running with it.” She turned to Veronica and JD, her steely eyes dismissive. “Heather and I have a lot to do. She’ll call you if she needs you.”

It was a razor-edged reminder that Heather wasn’t their friend. They just worked for her.

“Right,” JD said, taking Veronica by the elbow. “We’ll be in touch if we make any progress.”

Chandler seemed to have already forgotten that they were in the room. “Heather is coming by to talk about outfit options. I know this is short notice but we really have to move on this. Have you thought about what you’ll say?”

JD guided her out of the house while Veronica tried—and failed—not to look back at Heather’s small, sad figure standing in the office.

“Christ,” JD muttered, pulling a pack of cigarettes out and lighting one.

Veronica nodded and took one. “Poor Heather.”

“Yeah.”

She studied his face. “What?”

“What?” He shrugged and looked away.

“What are you thinking about right now? I can tell it’s something.”

He licked his lips and ran his fingers through his hair. “I just… The letter situation is weird.”

“The letter situation. You mean the ‘situation’ that’s the whole reason Heather is paying us?” Veronica didn’t like where this was going.

“Yeah. That.”

“Talk.”

He sighed heavily and took a long drag from the cigarette, clearly stalling. “I’m just… not sure there’s really someone we need to be protecting her from.”

“Are you serious?” Veronica’s temper flared. “You don’t believe her? You saw the letters! They’re not fake.”

“Ron, it’s not like _that._ I just don’t think there’s definitely a boogeyman waiting to attack her behind these letters.”

“But someone is sending them!” Veronica insisted.

“Yes, of course, but probably just a garden variety weirdo. I think Heather is under a lot of stress, way out of control of her life, and so she freaked herself out with these letters.”

“Right, every woman is hysterical and paranoid.” She glared at him.

“Again, it’s not like that. I think she’s really spooked and I’d like to help her, I just don’t think she’s in a lot of danger.”

“I believe her.”

“Good, one of us probably should. I just know the kind of weird, gross nonsense people send celebrities, actresses especially. They don’t always lead to serial killers waiting in the bushes with knives.”

“So why are we still on this job if you don’t think she needs to be protected?” She knew he wouldn’t take her money if he really didn’t think there was a danger; he would tell her.

JD glanced back at the house as he climbed on the bike, holding an arm out to help Veronica on behind him. “I don’t think the letter thing is a danger, that doesn’t mean I don’t think she needs to be protected.”

* * *

 “Have you thought about what you’re going to say?”

“I figured you’d provide a script,” Heather muttered, glaring at the floor.

Heather probably heard her, but she pretended she hadn’t. “Look up and speak up, Heather, we won’t get another shot at this.”

Heather stepped in, dressed head to toe in gold—some kind of statement she claimed was to raise awareness, though she didn’t say for what—and holding up two garment bags. “Are we going for a more waifish, vulnerable thing, or should we play up the desperate starlet, too beautiful for her own good?” 

She held up both bags for Heather’s inspection, while Heather balked at the mere description of them.

Thankfully, Heather turned her nose up at them. “Try for something… light, innocent, penitent. We want her to look sweet, smart, and relatable, but most importantly, sane. She’s just a young star who made some mistakes. This industry can be so toxic, after all.”

“I’m not that young,” Heather insisted, not sure how to tackle the rest of it. “I’m old enough to play a teenager on the CW!”

Heather flicked her hand dismissively. “Yeah, sure, not that you’d take that kind of role. Were you paying attention to what I was saying?”

“Yes, Heather.” Heather dropped her head. “I like the white one, Heather.”

As always, she could rationalize doing what Heather wanted. It was just another part to play, a few lines said in front of a camera. That was what Heather was good at anyway, so what did it matter that she hated this part, hated her lines, and hated what it would make people think?

“I think Heather’s right about the white,” Heather said, nodding to the bag in Heather’s hand. “But try it with something different; the skirt isn’t working. Do you have that pair of trousers, what’s his name, that designer, sent us last week?”

“They might be in my car, I can go check.”

No one—including Heather herself—mentioned that Heather preferred wearing skirts, and that she had seen the stuff that designer had sent over and hadn’t liked it.

 _They’re just doing their jobs,_ Heather thought, trying not to sigh.

She looked out the window, towards the road and saw a motorcycle whiz by. It wasn’t JD and Veronica, but she liked to imagine that it was, and that she was somehow clinging to them as they flew down the road, past hills and sparkling blue ocean, out towards somewhere with lots of space.

Shaking her head sharply, Heather exited the daydream. It wasn’t right to imagine herself holding onto Veronica like that; Veronica worked for her, and was probably dating JD and interested in men and—

“Heather? Hello? I asked you if you wanted to practice the interview? Grace sent me a few mock-up questions. There might be minor tweaks when you actually get in there, but she promised no surprises.”

That was hard to believe—interviewers loved surprise questions—but Heather nodded. “Sure.”

“How are you feeling, Heather?”

For a moment, Heather almost mistook it for a genuine question, but she knew Heather well enough to realize quickly that it was her first test. She quickly slipped into the affect Heather had assigned her. “I’m feeling better, thank you.”

“Better from what?” Heather asked, dropping out of her interviewer voice. “Just say you’re doing well, let her lead the conversation.”

“Yeah, Heather, you like it when women take charge, right?”

Ignoring Heather, she bit her cheek to hold back a glare and tears, returning to the fake interview. “I’m doing well, thank you.”

“Next she’ll find some way to lead up to asking about the photos of you from the show. How do you respond.”

“I wasn’t feeling like myself that night,” Heather said, schooling her face into one of elegant sadness. “I haven’t for a while.”

Heather nodded her approval. “Nice segue, remember to take it slow and only cry if you have to.”

“I’ll prep her for it with waterproof makeup, but be sure to cry pretty, okay Heather?”

Heather hoped she wouldn’t cry.   She hated crying, hated showing emotion that wasn’t scripted and planned and appropriate, but she had been cursed with an expressive face.

Hiding her tears was as close as she could get to playing her cards close to her chest and keeping her heart off of her sleeve.

They continued the fake interview, Heather tried to detach herself from it. When it was finally over and Heather had received her single nod of approval from Heather, she said quietly, “I want Veronica and JD to be at the interview.”

Heather rolled her eyes so dramatically the motion could be seen in her entire body. “For god’s sake, Heather, it’s a closed studio who the fuck do you think is going to get you?”

“I don’t know,” Heather ducked her head, hiding in her hair, but her resolve didn’t shake. “I still want them there.”

“They’re probably dating,” Heather said, her eyes glinting sharply. “I just got that vibe.”

It was needlessly unkind, and Heather knew that; she was well versed in Heather McNamara’s mean streak.  

If she wanted to be honest, Heather might have agreed with Heather—there was an intensity between Veronica and JD that was unmistakable—but the benefit of having even a modicum of acting talent was that Heather could lie easily and well if she wanted to.

“I didn’t see that at all. Did you, Heather?”

“Hmm? No.” As always, small disputes between Heather and Heather were ended with a word from Heather; whoever she agreed with was the winner.

Even with such a non-comital victory, Heather gloated slightly, smirking at Heather and flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“At least I don’t have to hire people to have a crush on,” Heather sneered.

“I don’t have a crush on her,” Heather insisted. “What is this, grade school? She’s just pretty, that’s all.”

Veronica was, of course, more than this, but Heather clung to the comforting lie, ignoring that Veronica was also interesting and strong, and so many things Heather herself dreamed of being.


	5. Beauty Queen on a Silver Screen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh my life has been too busy and I'm too tired to edit. Sorry for any errors. Comments always welcomed and loved. Enjoy!

The studio wasn’t as glamorous as Veronica had always imagined they would be. According to JD, that was standard for all aspects of filmmaking and part of the reason she should avoid it.

He had refused to come to Heather’s interview, wishing her the best of luck and heading out to talk to his police informant—a guy he’d had a brief fling with a few months ago—to discuss the letters and see if this was something that they should report.

It frustrated her that JD didn’t believe that Heather was really in danger, but it frustrated her more that he had a valid point; the letters weren’t exactly threatening, and it could just be a weird fan who would eventually lose interest. But it was impossible to ignore Heather’s fear, and they’d taken her money—and spent some of it—so they owed it to her to at least look into it.

And JD wasn’t about to argue an opportunity to visit his hot cop ex, conveniently giving Veronica the afternoon with Heather, which would have been good except that Heather was a mess.

She was clearly trying to hold it together, but every time Veronica glanced in her direction she saw Heather’s hands trembling, or a frenetic twitch of her head as she fretted with things on the makeup table or her phone.

“Heather,” Veronica offered cautiously, “Can I get you anything? Some water, or—”

“No, thank you,” Heather said, her voice breathy and quiet. “I’m fine.”

Veronica didn’t believe that at all, so she stayed next to Heather, her stance casual but ready as assistants and makeup artists and PA’s and dozens of other people whose titles Veronica didn’t learn dashed around and “fixed” Heather into whatever she would be in front of the cameras that were set up all over.

“How do you feel, Heather?” Heather Chandler asked her, ignoring Veronica’s presence as she had been since she’d arrived that morning. “You look good.”

As much as Veronica felt like starting some kind of fight with Chandler, she had to agree with that. Heather wore a green dress over a white shirt, her hair was down around her shoulders. The look wasn’t calculated, but the result was that Heather looked youthful and delicate, with wide, innocent eyes.

Veronica’s heart beat a little too fast as she was looking over the finished results of several people’s hard work. “You do,” She said quietly.

Heather looked up at her, her face collapsing tragically. “I’m…”

“Oh, god, Heather not now!” Chandler hissed, looking around as if something illegal was about to happen.

“I just have to—” Heather didn’t finish her sentence. She stood and hurried away while Veronica followed close at her heels, ignoring Heather Chandler’s withering glare.

Heather made it to the bathroom, but didn’t manage to close the door, which Veronica took as either an invitation or a cry for help.

Approaching her cautiously, Veronica stroked Heather’s back as she retched into the toilet, feeling awkward, but not able to pull herself away.

Heather’s closest friends were outside, probably laughing about this, or at the very least ignoring it, and Veronica felt that was betrayal in the highest order. JD was not always the best friend to have; he was complicated and came with more baggage than a 747, but on the rare occasions Veronica had been sick, or depressed, or any kind of messed up, he’d at least tried to be there, however incompetent he was at actually caretaking.

She gently gathered Heather’s hair behind her, continuing to rub her back in soft circles until it was over.

“Are you alright?” She asked lamely, still holding Heather’s hair and feeling suddenly, awkwardly intimate.

Heather nodded and wiped her mouth on some toilet paper, carefully avoiding smudging her makeup. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Veronica stayed with her despite the terse, dismissive tone. “It’s okay—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then this interview is a bad idea,” Heather Chandler said from the doorway. “Are you ready? You’re on in five and you need to get your makeup retouched.”

Heather nodded meekly and stood up, brushing past Veronica with a very quiet, “Thank you.”

Veronica moved to follow her but Chandler caught her by the arm, digging her nails into her arm. “Heather’s career is in a very delicate place right now. I’m not going to let anything ruin that, do you understand?”

Unafraid, Veronica met her eyes, standing as tall as she could. “I’m here to help Heather. That puts us on the same side, right?”

Heather huffed and turned sharply, hitting Veronica in the face with her thick hair as she walked away.

For the interview, Veronica lingered in the shadows around the little staging area, watching Heather as a mousy intern dabbed makeup on her face. She looked like an ancient statue, marble and perfect, emotionless as she waited for the cameras to go on. It was hard to believe she was the same girl who’d been bitter and sad in the bathroom only minutes before.

The interviewer—a woman with straight blond hair who Veronica vaguely recognized—walked onto set brusquely, barely greeting Heather as she took a seat across from her. 

A camera man called places and everyone backed away from Heather and the interviewer as silence fell in the studio. The director called action and Heather was all smiles and politeness as the interviewer greeted her.

She turned to look at the camera, while Heather’s placid smile remained fixed. “I’m here with up and coming actress Heather Duke, who recently had her break out role in _Hills Secret_ , with rumors circling that we’ll be seeing her again in an upcoming Marsha Moore film.”

“Thank you for having me on, Grace,” Heather said, looking like she was having coffee with an old classmate whose company she didn’t really enjoy.

Veronica made a mental note to try and find the show Heather had been on, and to ask JD if he knew anything about Marsha Moore, whose name Veronica didn’t recognize, but the confident tone with which the interviewer, Grace, said it made it seem like she should.

 “Well, Heather,” Grace continued, “I understand you have something you’d like to clear up, is that correct?”

Heather nodded. “Yes. There have been some rumors going around since the Breakout awards the other day, and I wanted to address them.”

Grace nodded. “People have been worried about you. Do you want to explain what happened on the red carpet after the show?”

“The truth is…” Heather paused, and her eyes darted to the side. Veronica offered her an encouraging smile and a small wave.

For a brief second, Heather’s lips twitched, almost smiling, as her eyes softened. They hardened again a moment later into the mask she’d been wearing. “The truth is that I’ve been having a hard time lately.”

“Tell me more about that,” Grace said, sounding like a bad TV therapist.

Heather took a long deep breath, and Veronica had to stop and wonder whether she was acting or she really needed to collect herself. If it was a performance, it was a convincing one.

“I’ve struggled with my weight for a long time,” Heather said. “I used to think it was normal, that all girls felt like that. Later I used that same line of thinking to talk myself into treating myself very badly. ‘All girls diet to stay skinny. All girls throw up sometimes.’ But really I was obsessed. I was sick.”

She wiped away a single, pretty tear before continuing. “I’ve tried so hard to get better, and I’ve had wonderful people around me to help me.”

Veronica didn’t try to contain a small snort, which earned her a glare from the guy holding the microphone over the stage.

“My friends did their best to support me, and I was getting better, but lately all the pressure has gotten overwhelming. The night of the Breakout awards, I relapsed. I was so scared that I wouldn’t look good in front of all those cameras that I made myself sick.”

As convincing as Heather’s performance was, Veronica didn’t believe her. The words were false, hollow, and scripted. No amount of effort on Heather’s part could have convinced Veronica that it was what she really wanted to be saying. She believed that Heather had made herself sick that night, but she didn’t believe that it explained her behavior at the awards show.

“What happened after that, Heather?”

“I’m not sure. I remember leaving the show feeling hungry and unwell, but by the time I got out to the red carpet everyone was shouting and I felt dizzy. I barely remember the rest, only that my friends, Heather and Heather, were there to take care of me when I got home.” She smiled through her tears.

“Will this affect your career, moving forward?”

That seemed to be the million dollar question, but it didn’t faze Heather, whose face was set. “I hope not. I’m recovering, and while that can be a long process, I know that giving up what I love won’t help. I have no plans on making any changes to my upcoming schedule.” For the first time, Heather looked away from Grace, just beyond the camera. “You’ll be seeing more of me.”

She sounded so confident, so determined, that Veronica almost cheered.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to other girls that might have similar problems?” For whatever reason, the interviewer seemed allergic to the words ‘eating disorder’, which pissed Veronica off.

A brief flash of horror swept over Heather’s face— she hadn’t been expecting that question—but it passed quickly and she composed herself. “That I’m sorry,” She said simply, “For not being the role model I wanted to be. I failed in being the kind of person they deserve to look up to.”

“That was very—”

“And that… That they should never let anyone tell them who to be. Pressure comes from everywhere, and I hope they can learn to ignore it better than I did. Thank you.” She rushed the words as though she thought someone would yell ‘Cut!’ before she had a chance to finish them, but when they were all out, she seemed to breathe more easily.

The interviewer’s eye was twitching slightly, and Veronica wondered if she’d ever been interrupted before. “Thank you for your honesty.” She turned to look at the camera again, once again wearing her forced smile. “When we return, is celebrity obsession contributing to the eating disorder epidemic affecting American youth?”

“Cut!” The word was like pulling the trigger of a starting gun, and everyone leapt into action, darting around to rearrange set pieces, move in new interview subjects, and clear Heather out of the way.

Now that the cameras were off her, Veronica could see the artiface of it all. The expressive mask Heather had been wearing fell away and she looked tired, pale, and sick. Moving slowly through the chaotic crowd, Heather brushed past everyone and slipped into the bathroom. 

Feeling that she wouldn’t be doing her job as a bodyguard if she didn’t try to watch out for Heather’s emotional health, Veronica followed her.

Heather hadn’t even locked the stall door, and it swung open slowly as Veronica walked in. She was sitting on the toilet, head in her hands, sobbing.

Guilt flooded Veronica when her first thought was to leave. Surely this was a private moment that she shouldn’t interrupt? Veronica couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried the way Heather was. Those deep, shoulder shaking, coughing, gasping, throat tearing sobs that came from somewhere scary and deep that Veronica never touched. She had no idea what she would want someone to do if they came across her like that. The only person who ever would, however, was JD, and she knew what he would do.

She squeezed into the narrow stall and put an awkward hand on Heather’s shoulder, just letting it rest while Heather’s sobs slowly subsided.

* * *

It was a beautiful day in sunny LA, enough that even JD couldn’t wear a long coat—though it was what he preferred—so he went out in a sweatshirt, pulling the hood over his face in case another misguided fan recognized him. He settled in a small park not far from the police station to wait for Holden.

The first thing JD had noticed about him was the name. He was a long time Salinger fan, enough that he didn’t mind sharing his name, and his interest had almost been a joke at first. _Imagine JD dating Holden, wouldn’t that be a laugh?_ But it had become more serious than he’d been expecting, the closest thing to a real relationship he’d had since his last breakup with Veronica.

As always with JD, things fell apart, but they’d remained friends in a casual way and Holden had provided a police perspective on a couple of cases. If being used in this way bothered him, he didn’t say and JD didn’t ask. At the very least, he had taken JD’s call and agreed to meet him on his lunch break.

He didn’t have to wait long before Holden’s tall, lean figure came into view, his blond hair gleaming in the sunlight. Every time he saw Holden, JD was caught between describing him as looking like a ken doll, or admitting that he looked like a real life Fred Jones in a police uniform. As neither description would amuse Holden, he’d never shared these thoughts.

JD raised a hand in a half-wave acknowledgement and Holden joined him on the wall. “Hey man.”

“Good to see you.” There was a moment of awkwardness where JD thought about telling Holden he looked good, but lost his nerve.

“So what do you want?” Holden asked with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.

“Who says I want something?”

Holden snorted. “The last four times you’ve called me were because you wanted something.”

“I wasn’t counting. Look, if it’s an issue I won’t ask. We can just hang out.” It had been a while since JD had casually hung out with anyone who wasn’t Veronica and even if it wasn’t productive, the idea sounded nice.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh thank god.” Holden dropped his head on JD’s shoulder, letting out a sigh that lasted too long. “I’ve barely slept at all this week, my job is a nightmare.”

“You should quit,” JD said, dead serious. Holden was too good to be a cop.

Ignoring him, Holden continued venting. “Some actress got robbed or something and we spent half the night at her house, then she’s come in every day since then screaming her head off about why we haven’t caught the bastard yet. Bitch thinks this is fucking CSI and we have magic answers because we got a couple fingerprints.”

“What’d he take?” JD asked, interested despite himself.

“That’s the fucking point! He didn’t take anything. She’s just wigging out because he managed to get past her fancy security system. As far as we know he never left the first floor and he didn’t break or steal anything, she should be grateful. I’ve seen shit way worse than this.”

“I’m sure.” He didn’t really think anyone should be required to be grateful that someone broke into their house, despite the fact that nothing really happened. “She’s probably just scared.”

“She’s being dramatic for the attention,” Holden insisted. “I think she won some award recently and she’s trying to milk the spotlight while she has it.”

JD nodded, his thoughts turning to Heather. He doubted that anyone who wanted attention would go to the two lowest-profile PI’s they could find, but milking a bad situation for fame was something Heather’s people definitely weren’t above. Otherwise she wouldn’t be giving the interview she was currently shooting.

“Will you get a chance to sleep later?” JD asked, shifting the topic before Holden could really get going with an anti-celebrity rant.

Holden smiled, raising an eyebrow. “Why, do you want to come over?”

It was a clear, blatant invitation and JD wanted to take it. It would be glorious to get out of his head for a bit and spend time with a hot, interested guy who wouldn’t complicate things. But he thought of Veronica, who would be going over case stuff on their shitty pullout couch, a reheated takeout box on her lap.

The fact that that image was able to distract him from accepting an offer to fuck a hot guy meant that he shouldn’t accept. “Sorry, Holden. I can’t.”

“No worries. I need the sleep anyway. And I think you hate cops too much to really be into me.”

“I don’t hate—”

“Yes, you do,” Holden interrupted, putting his hand up. “I get it. You know I found your mugshot? You looked like shit, man.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens,” JD said. “Are you planning on using it to teach kids the dangers of addictive substances?”

“Nah, I think I’ll keep it for personal use.” He smirked, flirting unmistakably.

JD was too familiar with his own mugshot to think it would offer much in terms of masturbatory material. “What, for blackmail? I think anyone with google could get that if they wanted to.”

He shrugged, unaffected. “It might still come in handy.”

For a moment JD thought he was going to wink at him or something, but thankfully neither of them had to go through that.

They sat in silence for a moment, just enjoying the sun.

“So, why did you call me?” Holden finally asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” JD lied. “You said you just wanted to hang out.”

“I’m okay. And honestly, I’m a little curious. It’s been weeks since we’ve talked.”

It had been weeks since they’d had a case significant enough to need police help, and the last time had ended with a one night stand that he thought both of them probably regretted to some degree. That was the way things were with Holden.

“Do you know anything about Heather Duke?”

“Who?”

“The actress? She’s been in some stuff, just had her breakout in some miniseries or something. She called us for help, thinks she has a stalker.”

“All actresses think they have a stalker, it makes them feel legit,” Holden said, brushing it off.

“She’s gotten letters and stuff, he even sent her a picture.”

“You think she’s for real?”

“She’s really scared,” JD said, ducking the question slightly. He didn’t want to admit that he wasn’t sure Heather was in any danger and give Holden an excuse to dismiss the matter.

Holden sighed and shifted slightly into his cop-mode, which JD found annoying rather than helpful. “Were there any threats? Anything specific?”

“No, they’re very vague.”

Cop mode faded away a little. “Then we can’t do anything for her. We can’t waste resources unless there’s a danger of imminent harm, meaning someone has a specific plan for when and how they want to hurt her. You can call me if she gets anything.”

“So this guy could be a real freak and you wouldn’t do anything unless he sent her a postcard saying ‘I’m going to rip out your liver on May third’? That’s fucked up.”

“It’s not that simple,” Holden tried to explain, but JD was already rolling his eyes. “Do you want to pay more in taxes so we can follow every tweaked out celebrity that claims she’s got a stalker?”

“Bold of you to assume I pay taxes.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Holden said with an exasperated sigh. “Are you this difficult with your girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” JD said immediately.

“But you knew who I was talking about.”

It was tempting to sulk or argue about it, but JD held off. He knew whatever he had with Veronica didn’t make sense to most people; it barely made sense to him. Holden was far from the first person to express some jealousy about their relationship—if that was what it was—so JD was used to it. 

“And, yes, I am this difficult with Veronica.”

“I don’t know how she puts up with you,” Holden said, with surprising good nature.

_Neither do I._

Holden glanced down at his watch. “I should be getting back to work. I’ll keep an ear out for stuff about your girl, though, okay?”

It was the best he was going to get. “Thanks, keep me posted.”

There was a half-heartbeat pause before Holden leaned in and kissed JD, letting it linger for a moment before he backed away. “I’ll see you around, JD.”

JD stayed frozen for a long moment, partially missing the opportunity, the kiss, and the general sense of intimacy he hadn’t had in a long time. Things with Veronica were never stable enough for him to feel fully invested; he never knew when she would withdraw, or he would, and they would go back to acting like business partners.

Shaking those thoughts away, JD headed for home to fill Veronica in on what little information he’d gained. If nothing else he knew they were on their own for it, though that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be calling Holden at some point. Veronica seemed to be moving on, why shouldn’t he?

Holden was already too far away for JD to try to catch him and take back his refusal and he wasn’t even sure he would have if he’d had the chance, so he turned and headed for home.

Veronica was waiting for him. She looked terrible, which wasn’t something he said about her often. Her eyes were dull and red-rimmed and her movements sluggish.

He crossed the room without thinking and pulled her into a hug, which she returned mechanically.

“Heather got another letter.”

Pushing her back gently, JD searched her face. “What did it say?”

“It said ‘You need me’.”

“With a picture?”

She shook her head. “Just paper again. Maybe he didn’t have a good enough photo.” She snorted bitterly.

“Is Heather okay?”

“She was a wreck when I left her, but she told me to go. I think the interview took a lot out of her and then that. God, JD, she really needs us.”

JD’s eyes flicked to the table, where Veronica’s laptop was open to a website featuring a large picture of Heather crying. “Puking to Stay Thin: Heather Duke Tells All.” 

He reached past Veronica and closed the laptop. “Yeah, she does.”

* * *

 

Heather wasn’t usually susceptible to nightmares. She had been the only person on her first film’s cast—an indie horror film based on a popular urban legend—that never had any issues sleeping, and she was quite proud of it.

Today’s letter had broken her streak, and she’d woken sweating and shaking like she’d been running. The idea of trying to go back to sleep and risking going back to that dream made her stomach turn, so she walked downstairs and turned her kettle on. Heather tried to recall the specifics of the dream but could only remember flashes of primary colors and a feeling of terror so strong it sent shivers down her spin just thinking about it.

She pulled her robe tighter around her shoulders and made herself a cup of tea which she carried to her office. Thinking about the letters or the interview and the explosion of opinions about it were exhausting and terrifying. All Heather wanted was an escape, so without bothering to turn the lights on, she pulled up her favorite movie and felt herself breathe as the opening credits began.

Watching Alice Dean act made her think of JD, and she searched her face for resemblance. Even on old film, her eyes were clear green, striking against her pale, perfect skin and framed in golden-blond hair.

Heather’s father had been a film snob, swearing up and down that no good movies had been made after nineteen seventy—a decade which had irreparably ruined film—but Heather had forced him to sit through every one of Alice Dean’s movies anyway. Her early films were all about high school, filmed when she herself was young and a part of a shining group of starlets, everything about her shone to Heather.

“I want to be like her,” Heather remembered saying to her father, staring wide-eyed at the screen. 

Heather and Heather hadn’t quite understood the appeal of those movies, which had largely been made too long ago for them to be interested, but Heather chose them for every one of their movie nights at school and hung the posters on their dorm room walls.

She couldn’t remember much time at all when there wasn’t something starring Alice Dean for her to watch, though it sometimes meant she sat through bad movies or protracted, melodramatic miniseries that only held her attention when she could watch her idol onscreen.

Perhaps Heather should have realized sooner that she was a lesbian, as none of the actors she’d professed attraction for when pressed by Heather or Heather had ever had nearly the same amount of appeal that Alice did.

Looking back, Heather never would have said she was studying Alice’s films; she just found them comforting and she needed a lot of comfort, but now she could see the roots of her own style on the screen.

Pulling her knees up on the chair, Heather rested her chin on them and tried to let the movie swallow the whole of her focus. Even though she’d seen it hundreds of times, the jokes still made her smile and the villains still made her hiss and she wanted to shed a tear at the perfect, almost-happy ending.

The final shot was one of Alice smiling as the credits began to role, and Heather once again looked for signs of JD in his face. She hadn’t seen him smile aside from in his movie, which hadn’t exactly been a stellar show of good acting, but she thought that based on his cheekbones and the distinctive tilt to his eyebrows, her might have inherited some approximation of her smile, which endeared him to her despite the fact that they barely knew each other. 

Thinking about JD made her think about Veronica, who also had a nice smile, though it was obscured by many layers of sarcasm. It tugged at Heather’s heart to think about how steady the two of them looked standing next to each other.

 _They’re probably dating. I got that vibe,_ Heather had said, and it still stung to think about. Heather had long ago learned that she couldn’t trust her sense of which people were gay; Heather had once joked that _her_ gaydar was better than Heather’s. Usually it was just wishful thinking, but Heather almost felt that JD and Veronica were too unusual to be straight.

Rolling her eyes she tried to refocus on the movie, muttering one of Alice’s lines before she could say it. Some things were foolish to imagine, even if they were theoretically possible.

 


	6. Primadonna Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I'm so sorry it took me so long to update; I really don't have an excuse except that life is crazy right now. Thank you so much if any of y'all stuck with this through the wait. Enjoy!

It was JD’s turn to watch Heather. Generally this involved very little, and after a few days of keeping an eye on Heather and having nothing to do, they’d scaled back to only staying with her when she went out, so he was walking next to her, keeping his head down and praying that no one would be interested enough in him to figure out who he was. He had faded out of interest long ago, and he wasn’t interested in changing that.

Heather was shopping, though JD suspected it was an opportunity to be photographed that Heather or Heather had forced her into. She didn’t seem overly interested in the boutiques they visited, aside from when he’d mentioned that a shirt looked like something Veronica would like. He tried not to read into that. 

“What do you think of this?” She asked, holding up a dress.

JD tilted his head, considering. “It looks uncomfortable.”

Heather’s lips curled up. “Everything I wear is uncomfortable, do you think it looks good?”

To him, an article of clothing that wasn’t comfortable was utterly useless. “You’d look nice in anything, but that’s… can I call it weird?”

She smiled. “Designer shit is always a little weird, isn’t it?” She pulled another dress off the rack. “I think I like this one better.”

He nodded absently, a little bored. “Is this for anything? If you’re going to want Veronica or I to go to any kind of event, you need to tell us in advance because we’re not exactly fashionable people.”

“I noticed,” She said mildly. “You don’t get out much?”

“We have one bar we go to regularly because it’s nearby, but it’s not fancy. I think Veronica has two ‘date outfits’ she switches out.”

“You only own two shirts.” Heather appeared to be fighting a laugh.

“When we met I only owned one.”

Finally, the laugh escaped. “Seriously?”

He looked away, not sure he should share this. “We were… struggling a little bit before you showed up.” He doubted it was appropriate to tell someone that was technically your boss that they’d privately referred to her as their miracle.

“Not many people in need of your services?”

“Not enough.” He held out a red floral dress. “What about this?”

There was a long moment of silence as Heather thought about it. “I actually like that. You have good taste.”

It was his turn to laugh, catching the attention of the bored salesgirl at the counter. “Do you need any help?” She tilted her head and studied Heather for a moment, possibly recognizing her from the ‘inspiring’ interview that had briefly gone viral.

“Can I try this on?” Heather asked, holding the red dress up.

The salesgirl nodded and stood up to unlock the dressing room. She kept an eye on JD as Heather tried the dress on and he wandered aimlessly around the shop. The itchy feeling of being watched was just starting to piss him off when Heather returned, dressed in her own clothes and smiling.

“Heather’s going to hate it,” She said gleefully, stepping up front to purchase the dress.

They left, and JD trailed slightly behind Heather as she set off down the street.

The commotion started so fast he took a moment to catch up with it. One second they were two more people in a light crowd on the street, in the next they were split apart a group of people surrounded Heather. Several of them were holding cameras and calling her name.

JD elbowed through them, knocking cameras out of the way and keeping his head down and his face out of sight.

“Watch it!”

“Hey, asshole—”

He ignored the frustrated shouts, barely keeping himself from throwing punches as the crowd pressed closer.

Heather was right in front of him, cowering as she was mobbed on all sides. Someone grabbed her, and the part of JD that had been holding back snapped.

He hauled a fist back and punched the guy, buying enough space to grab Heather and flee down a nearby alley.

They ran away from the main street and didn’t stop until they’d found a quieter one. JD stepped into the first shop he found a bought a hat. “Wear this.”

Heather pulled it on over her hair, which was still extremely noticeable, but at least she was less unmistakable like this.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, but he could see her shaking. “That happened so fast.”

“Yeah. Here, come with me.” He led her into a bar and sat down at a booth in the back corner, making sure he could see anyone who came in. “Just relax for a minute.”

For a long moment, they were quiet as Heather took long breaths.

“Are you sure you’re—”

“I’m fine,” She snapped.

He hadn’t seen her angry, and hadn’t expected to. Every time someone said something to her that would have pissed him off, she either accepted it without comment or got sad. Seeing any spark of anger in her was a relief; she had fight. And—though he never would have told her this—it was a little bit cute.

“Do you want to say here or is there somewhere else—”

“Can we go back to your office?” Heather asked.

Trying to hide his surprise, JD nodded. “Yeah, um, I don’t think anyone is there. One of Veronica’s friends asked her to cover a shift at their bakery.”

“Veronica has a bakery?”

“No, Veronica’s friend Zel has a bakery with their partner. Veronica picks up shifts there sometimes when they need her.”

Heather looked like she was storing that information to give it attention later. “But it’s okay if we go? I want to go somewhere quiet.”

There were few things JD could absolutely guarantee, but one of them was that the office would be its usual dismal self, so he stood up and offered her his hand.

She tossed a tip onto the table, despite the fact that they hadn’t ordered anything and hadn’t even spoken to a waiter, and they walked out.

The street was quiet, but he tried not to let that make him feel more secure than he should. He was on-edge and careful the whole way home, even when they reconnected with Heather’s driver. The old man was nice, and Heather said she trusted him completely, which JD hoped wasn’t something she would do easily, so he tried to be trusting, but old habits died hard.

It helped slightly that he and Veronica had run a full background check on Ori which had come up spotless.

He dropped them off in front of the office, and JD walked up ahead of Heather, hoping he could hide a bit of the mess before she came in. It didn’t quite work, but if she found their squalor disgusting, he couldn’t tell.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming,” He said sheepishly, trying to shove an empty takeout container behind a pile of papers on the desk discreetly.

“It’s alright,” She said with a small smile. “It doesn’t bother me.”

JD very much doubted that; he’d seen how neat her house was. Even the office that was clearly her favorite room was perfectly orderly. Someone who was completely unbothered by mess wouldn’t live like that.

“Why did you want to come here?” JD asked when the silence had stretched on for too long, and watching her look around his home had started to feel weird. At least they’d folded the bed up so the place passed for just an office.

Heather shrugged, continuing her slow exploration of the office, picking up a picture off the desk and studying it. It was the only printed picture of him and Veronica he knew of, a clumsy selfie they’d taken when they first got the camera they used for cases.

“How long have you known her?” Heather asked.

“Years,” He said. “I met her when I was in a pretty bad place, after everything that happened. I’m sure you know.” He tried to avoid talking about his arrest with clients if at all possible, even if those that recognized him could easily google it.

She nodded, her face neutral. He had expected to see judgement, but found only mild interest.

“I joined the military, partly so I could disappear for a bit, be forgotten, and partly to get away from my dad.” He laughed bitterly. “Everyone was an asshole and I hated it. Call me a coward but I quit after a week of training.”

That had been a dark time in his life, and he had very narrowly avoided going back down the path that had landed him there in the first place. “I was getting drunk at a shitty bar, feeling sorry for myself, and I decided I needed food. Staggered over to a Snappy Snack Shack—do you remember those?”

Heather nodded and he went on, feeling a stupid, nostalgic smile grow on his face. “She was already in there and we talked, we flirted. I went with her back to her place. I thought that would be the end of it, but she was… She’s not the kind of person you let go.”

There was something wistful on Heather’s face, and JD hesitated to place it, but he wondered if maybe Veronica’s crush was less one-sided than he’d thought.

“I got a job at a shitty boxing gym where no one cared who I was, learned to fight, and when Veronica graduated we decided to try and build DSI.” He gestured to the office, the letters on the door, and shrugged. For two people’s life work and greatest dream, it didn’t look like much.

“So she’s the brains and you’re the brawn?” Heather asked with a small smile.

JD snorted. “You’d think, but Veronica’s a hell of a fighter when she needs to be.”

“Are you still together?” A look of panic crossed Heather’s face. “Shit, that was too personal, I’m sorry.”

He laughed. “Heath, it’s fine. No, we aren’t. We’re kind of… wrong for each other. Our relationships get messy.” Seeing her discomfort, he forced another laugh. “I guess now I’m being too personal.”

“No! It’s just… sorry, it’s nothing.”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Heather had kind of expected him to press her, but he let the conversation lapse into a slightly awkward silence. She had wanted to ask if Veronica was seeing anyone, but hadn’t been able to find a way to phrase it that wasn’t blatantly revealing her interest, so she had clammed up. It was for the best.

“So, you’re um, a fan of my mom’s?” JD said, fiddling with his pockets.

Just the way he’d said “Mom” made it sound like he barely ever used the word. Heather understood that; she barely ever talked about her dad.

“Yeah,” Heather said. “I really liked her movies growing up.”

“I did too.”

“What was she like?” Heather asked. She had crossed the line into personal conversation a long time ago, and she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t curious.

He glanced away, looking out the small, dirty window. “She was… sad a lot of the time, honestly. I used to think that she only had so many smiles, and she used them up when she was working.”

Heather felt that way about herself sometimes.

“But she was also brilliant,” JD continued. “She was irresistible; everyone loved her and…” He stopped, and Heather looked away so he could wipe away a tear.

It seemed uncouth to ask about what had happened to her, but Heather was curious. The story had been a sensation at the time, with rumors flying about what had _really_ happened, despite the official ruling that it was a suicide.

At the time, Heather had just been emerging from the dark hole her father’s death had put her in, and—at Heather’s request—started sending audition videos around. Alice Dean’s death had been a setback for a lot of reasons, not the least of which that Heather had hoped to meet her one day if she managed to become successful.

“How’d you get here?” JD asked, pulling her away from her rather depressing reminiscence.

“What do you mean?”

He laughed. “Your business is a little harder to get into than mine, I should know. How’d you get where you are so young?”

“I’m not that young!” Heather insisted childishly.

JD at least had the courtesy not to laugh openly at her, for which she decided she owed him an answer. “My dad loved movies. I think there was always one on when I was a kid, so I think I’ve always wanted to be in them. He sent me to the same school he went to, this boarding school specializing in arts education, where I met Heather and Heather.”

“Your high school was all acting?”

“Yours wasn’t?” Heather said airily.

He shook his head. “School didn’t suit me.”

“Well, yeah. Technically it was all the arts, so I did regular classes in the morning, and then my afternoon was for my focus classes, acting and creative writing.”

“I’m curious what Heather and Heather focused on.”

“Heather was acting like me, and music. Heather was fashion design and dance. I think the administration roomed us together as a joke, but Heather just loved it, and she was nice to be around so we stuck together.”

JD’s eyebrows did something skeptical and Heather frowned at him. “I mean it! Imagine being a twelve year old girl living at school and suddenly the prettiest girl there wants to be your friend, and all the other girls treat you like you’re special because you’re with them. You’d have gone along with it too!”

“Maybe,” He said, but heather could tell he didn’t actually agree with her.

“ _Anyway_ ,” She said, very deliberately. “We came up with this plan that I would be an actress, Heather my agent, and Heather my stylist. It was a game at first but slowly it just became real. Heather’s dad works real estate in LA, real major league stuff, and he knows everyone. He helped her get the contacts she needed to get a spot in the agency she works for now. Heather just came along for the ride and got recruited for modeling at a party; she launched her brand from there.”

“Her brand?”

“Yeah, like her Instagram and blog and stuff. She’s basically a one-woman industry.”

JD shuddered. “That sounds horrible.”

“I’m told it’s very stressful,” Heather said with little sympathy.

JD leaned against his desk. “So you got here because your agent knew the right people?”

Heather bristled slightly. “And because I’m good at what I do!”

He smiled. “I believe that. Besides, at the end of the day everyone gets there because of people they know.”

“Right.” Heather looked around the office again, searching for something though she couldn’t have said what it was. The place looked comfortable, even homey. Heather wondered if they spent more time here than they did in their apartment.

“Do you have any updates?” She asked when the silence went on a beat too long.

“No.” He shook his head. “We tried to go through the post office but it was a dead end; he’s sending them from all over the city, we couldn’t even narrow it down to a general area. The two photos he’s sent don’t give much away. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, looking away so he wouldn’t be able to see her disappointment. “It’s fine. It’s not your fault.” Part of the reason she had wanted to come here—the reason she hadn’t wanted to tell him—was that she didn’t think she could be seen from their tiny windows.

Ever since he’d sent the first picture, she’d become painfully conscious of how visible she was. Her house was mostly glass, and she spent so much time in the public eye; it was enough to make anyone paranoid, even if they didn’t have a reason.

And—though Heather had teased her for not being famous enough—Heather had a reason. The letters freaked her out, even just thinking about them left her feeling cold inside. Being around JD made it easier, more so than Veronica even, because there was an element of danger to him. She thought that, if provoked, he was certainly capable of beating the shit out of someone, and maybe it was wrong, but she wanted that.

“What’s your new movie about?” He asked, and she admired the effort he was making to distract her.

It worked enough that she managed a smile. “It’s a modern, sort of feminist take on Moby Dick, with a young woman as the story’s Ahab.”

“Very high-concept.”

“Yeah. It’s a bit more subtle than I made it sound, but that’s the basic gist. The director’s an artist.”

“Marsha Moore, right?”

“You know her work?” Heather beamed, surprised and thrilled that she might be able to talk about some of her favorites with him.

“Distantly,” He admitted. “She used to be way more indie and she was involved with some weird horror-realism stuff that I liked when I was younger.”

“Did you see _Capture Finalis?_ ” Heather asked, rattling off the earliest of Marsha’s directing projects she knew, which was a film-school example of horror-realism.

He smiled. “Yeah, I love that one. Perfect for when I want to be filled with existential dread.”

Heather snorted. “You should have written the description on the box.”  She was about to ask him what he thought of the ending—it was divisive and brilliant—when her phone buzzed.

It was Heather’s ringtone, so she knew she had to answer, but she did so slowly, delaying hearing whatever Heather had to say.

“Hi, Heather.”

“Heather! Where the hell are you? I saw a bunch of pictures go up of you online, and everyone is saying some guy got punched? What happened?”

She hadn’t noticed JD punching anyone, but the crowd around her had been thick and she’d been distracted. “I got mobbed all of a sudden; JD stepped in and got me out. I think whoever is saying he got punched is just being dramatic.” She looked at JD, who was fixating on the wall, not looking at her.

“Ugh, you’re right. They act like not being able to shove their entire camera up someone’s ass is oppressing freedom of speech or whatever. Anyway, where are you?”

“I’m at JD and Veronica’s office,” Heather answered, not sure if she should have tried to lie.

“God, what are you doing there? Never mind. You need to come back. Stupid Courtney is stealing your spotlight again.”

“I fucking hate her,” Heather muttered. “Okay, I’ll call Ori and get on the road. See you soon.”

“Duty calls?” JD asked.

“Sadly.” Heather shrugged and sent Ori a text asking him to come get her. She would have liked to hang around longer and keep talking, but Heather would hate to be kept waiting.

As she was walking out the door, she turned back to look at JD. “You’re not going to give up on my case, are you?”

JD crossed the room and grabbed one of Heather’s hands. “I promise we’re going to keep looking. I know this is frustrating, but we have to wait for him to make a mistake.”

“Thank you.” With that, she left, comforted that they hadn’t stopped trying, even if they were hitting dead ends.

“Did you have a nice day, Heather?” Ori asked as he pulled away.

Heather thought back over her day, which had been a mixed bag of emotions. The crowd of people, the shock of paparazzi in her face, the dress JD had helped pick out, and then sitting in the office talking about movies and life stories like old friends.

“Yes, I think I did,” She said, a little surprised.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Heather stared out the window and watched the city slide by, trying not to worry about whatever it was that Heather was worked up over. Courtney Hunt was the usual annoying Hollywood bitch, with the added advantage of having been acting her whole life. She’d done the cute kid movie parts, graduated to a short run as a teen daughter on a sitcom, and moved up in the world to movies, where she had settled herself as the perfect star Heather always had to compete with.

She was also a fucking bitch.

Ori let the rest of the drive pass in silence, giving Heather a rare moment of quiet. Though she knew Heather would be pissed if she knew this, Heather thought Ori was the best person on her staff.

He dropped her off at her driveway. “Will you need anything else, Heather?”

“No, thank you. Do you have any other jobs tonight?” Heather asked. Ori picked up other driving work when he had spare time.

“A guy I know needs someone to cover him for a bachelorette party,” Ori said, looking like a man facing a firing squad.

“Good luck,” Heather said.

“Thank you.”

As always, he waited until she was in the door to drive away. It was a small thing, but she found comfort in it.

The mood in her living room was slightly better than it sometimes was when she returned home to find Heather and Heather sprawled comfortably on her couch, waiting for her but pretending not to be.

“Jesus, she’s being so dramatic about all of this,” Heather was saying. She was on her phone, her long legs tossed over the arm of the sofa. As always, she looked effortlessly perfect, like she was posing for a photo no one was taking yet.

Heather, sitting across from her, was upright and stiff. Anger tensed her shoulder as she poked at her phone while glancing at a video she was playing on her laptop.

“What happened?” Heather asked, stepping into the room.

“Fucking Courtney is stealing your moment!”

“That bitch!” Heather said, though she hadn’t really wanted to have a moment in the first place. If she had to have one, she didn’t want it stolen. “What did she do?”

“She got robbed!” Heather said, setting her phone down and sitting up to get in on the conversation. “And now she’s running to every fucking tabloid that will talk to her to cry about how hard it is to feel safe in her home.”

“And she’s not even a good enough actress to sell it,” Heather agreed. “Check out the video.”

Heather watched as Courtney sobbed outside her plush Hollywood mansion, gesturing to the perfectly intact door that the intruder had barely gotten through before the alarm went off and the police arrived only moments later.

“I just feel so violated. He could have taken something! He might come back, and I just don’t know,” Courtney said, making sure to look directly into the camera while her eyes were sparkling with tears.

Heather rolled her eyes. “She’s acting like that’s scary, meanwhile our Heather has a stalker and _no one_ is talking about it!”

“Heather told me I couldn’t talk about—”

“Whatever, the point is that her life isn’t so hard.”

Maybe somewhere deep down, Heather might have been able to feel sorry for Courtney, but she’d stolen roles out from under her feet too many times for any charitable feelings to stick, and though Heather hadn’t expected to win the Breakout award, the fact that Courtney had still left a bitter taste in her mouth.  

“Does she honestly believe that a couple minutes of being scared is more significant than Heather’s lifetime of struggling with her weight? What a cunt.” Heather glared daggers at the screen, and Heather was surprised it didn’t turn to stone under her medusa-stare.

“Turn it off,” Heather said, “I don’t want to see her stupid, desperate face anymore.”

Heather laughed and leaned forward, closing the video, which already had more views than Heather’s interview had the last time she’d checked it. They could call her names as much as they wanted, but the fact was that Courtney was more relevant than Heather.

“Honestly, the only thing her little sob story proves is that white privilege is still alive and well in America,” Heather said. “If I called the police, do you think they’d show up to my house in four point six minutes? I doubt it.”

Heather and Heather exchanged a glance, but neither pointed out that between Heather’s stepfather’s last name and her ritzy address, no one was going to ignore her emergency call. Even Heather’s fans regularly debated whether she was actually Hispanic or just very fond of tanning. Heather, of course, knew that the answer was both.

“Fame is so fickle,” Heather sighed. “Just today people were swarming me, but then this Courtney thing breaks and they’re all over her.”

“We’ll just have to work harder to keep you relevant,” Heather said airily.

That was concerning. “Look, maybe we should just let _Strike_ do the talking for us. I’m not Courtney; I don’t need a bunch of gimmicks and shit to be noticed. I’ll just be good at my job and the rest will follow.”

“God, you cannot be naïve enough to believe that.” Heather tossed her hair over her shoulder. “We need more PR. I’ll figure something out. Maybe more sightings.”

“Look, I’m getting really tired of all that. Between the Breakout Awards and the interview and these sightings… it’s exhausting Heather.”

“Boo hoo,” Heather said, rolling her eyes at Heather. “Why don’t I play Lucky by Britney Spears on the world’s smallest Alexa?”  She pulled out her phone and started typing, and Heather had to assume she was saving the line to use as a caption on one of her posts someday.

Pretending not to be stung while Heather and Heather laughed, Heather rolled her eyes. “Thanks, very cute. Anyway, I should get to work, I still have tons of script to get through. Text me for dinner!”

Heather smiled, reaching out and squeezing Heather’s hand on her way out. “Good luck, let us know if you need anything!”

“Yeah, Heather, sure,” Heather said, feeling her face get too hot. She pulled her hand away.

After nearly an hour, Heather emerged from the endless pages of script slightly dazed when her phone chimed. Expecting a text about dinner, she barely glanced at it, but stopped short when she saw the text was from Veronica.

_Hey! JD told me you came over today, sorry about our mess! I hope you had a good day, and I’m sorry we haven’t had any breakthroughs yet._

Heather’s face softened involuntarily, and she squeezed the phone against her chest a little. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if the case lasted a little longer.


	7. Looking for a Taste of Real Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't a shining example of editing, but I just had to post something. I'm not totally back, but I had to prove that I'm not gone either. Enjoy.

 

“Veronica? Hi, it’s Heather.”

Veronica heard the trembling voice on the other end of the phone and her heart skipped a beat, rushing forward in an uncomfortable rhythm. “Did something happen?”

“I got another letter. It has another photo. If you’re busy—”

“I’m not busy,” Veronica said quickly, grabbing a jacket off the chair. “JD’s busy, but I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

She sent JD a quick text, knowing that he wouldn’t get it until after his meeting, and then she called an Uber.

“I can stay on the phone if you want,” Veronica offered, knowing it would be a while until she made it out to Heather’s house. In LA, rush hour was every hour and she doubted she would make good time.

“No, um, I think I’m fine just, please try to hurry if you can.”

Something in her voice seemed off, and Veronica wanted to push her, but she refrained. Heather had enough people in her life trying to control her; the last thing she needed was one more. “I’ll be right there.”

The drive was agonizing. It didn’t take a horrendously long time—which it easily could have—but every pause where the car wasn’t moving made Veronica twitch. She spent the whole ride fidgeting and probably drove her driver crazy. At least he didn’t try to talk to her.

Her driver gave her a slightly skeptical look when he pulled up to Heather’s house as the sun was starting to set. The neighborhood he’d picked her up in and Heather’s neighborhood were vastly, conspicuously different, and it was clear he wondered what the hell she was doing here. Glancing down at her word jeans and jacket, she knew she didn’t belong.

Still, she had a reason for being here, and grubby or not she was going to do her job.

Heather opened the door as soon as Veronica started to walk up to the house. She looked pale, which wasn’t all that unusual, but nervous in the way that Veronica got nervous when she ran out of cigarettes.

“Thank you for coming,” Heather said, “Sorry this was so sudden, I just…” She pulled Veronica into the door and closed it, locking it quickly and then shoving a nearby chair in front of it.

Veronica watched all this and tried not to look concerned. Heather was not okay. “What happened?” This seemed like an unusually strong reaction to just a letter, which had become a fairly regular, if creepy, part of Heather’s life.

“He’s following me,” She said. “I guess… I thought he might go to events that I go to, but yesterday wasn’t…”

“Show it to me,” Veronica said, taking charge and reverting to her business-mode. Their relationship with Heather had become more casual, but Veronica had never forgotten why she and JD were there. This was their job, and it was finally time to do it. 

Heather passed her the paper with shaking hands and Veronica studied it. It was a picture of Heather with JD. He was holding her arm, leading her into what looked like a bar and glancing over his shoulder, his face slightly blurred from the motion.  Heather was looking at JD and allowing herself to be led, but her face was in crystal focus.

Over the image, someone had scrawled in large, angry red pen, pressed too hard into the paper. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know what it means,” Heather said. “It shouldn’t… It’s not a threat, why is it so scary?”

Veronica reached out and put a hand on Heather’s shoulder. “It doesn’t need to be a threat to be freaky as fuck.” She had chills just looking at it. She wasn’t sure how much she believed in handwriting analysis, but she could see rage in the way these words were written. There was a threat there, even if it wasn’t exactly what was on the page.

It also worried her that JD was in the picture. It made her feel strange, sweaty and cold all at once, to think of him getting hurt. She knew he’d survived more than most people would give him credit for, but she still hated the idea of him being in danger.

If it was someone other than Heather, she might have wondered if the case was worth it.

“Did you keep the envelope?” Veronica asked, hoping that staying business-like would shake her unease.

Heather nodded and handed it to her. It was just like all the others, with Heather’s public address typed neatly on the center, revealing nothing. Veronica had the old fashioned urge to try and dust it for fingerprints, but she knew that would only lead her to the mailman, who probably had little to do with it.

“Do you think… Should we warn JD?” Heather looked up at Veronica, and underneath the fear, Veronica also saw guilt.

“I told him to come here,” Veronica said. “He’ll be alright; he knows how to take care of himself.” Better than Heather could imagine, Veronica thought.

She nodded and her eyes flicked again to the large window in her living room. Veronica had never felt so exposed, and she couldn’t imagine how bad it was for Heather. The stylish, modern house was like a fishbowl, and Veronica knew there weren’t many places to hide here.

“Heather… I don’t want this question to scare you, but have you ever considered purchasing any kind of a weapon.”

A slightly crazed laugh escaped Heather, but she sobered quickly. “No. I wouldn’t know what to do with one.”

“Any kind of self-defense training?” Veronica knew she was grasping at straws, but it was possible; the early foundation for JD’s fighting came from doing stunts in his movie. The rest he’d gleaned from working at a boxing club.

Veronica’s skills were the sort of thing a girl picked up when she lived in a car alone in Los Angeles, but they were no less useful—or dangerous—than JD’s.

Heather shook her head, long copper hair brushing over her shoulders. “No, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. JD and I can give you some basics—”

“Do you think I’m in danger?”

The question was so abrupt Veronica had to pause and think about what it meant. “I—”

“I know what acting looks like, Veronica. Don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t know,” Veronica answered honestly. “I think if he keeps following you the way he did yesterday, it’s only a matter of time until he finds your house.”

She heard Heather’s breath catch and watched her swallow hard. Her fear flashed momentarily in her eyes before it disappeared neatly under a well-constructed calm exterior. Veronica admired the skill it must have taken to lock all that away. “What can I do?”

The real answer—that there wasn’t much she could do—wouldn’t have been helpful at all, so Veronica kept it to herself. “Stay vigilant, and tell me or JD about every suspicious person you see. This person has probably been hovering around you for a while, but they’re getting braver.”

“And when he gets really brave?” Heather asked.

Veronica closed her eyes, wishing she was a better liar. “Then he’ll try something.”

“Something—”

“I don’t know. I can’t get into this freak’s mind and pretend I know what he wants to do, but the way he writes… He acts like he wants something from you.”

“They always do,” Heather sighed bitterly, turning away from Veronica.

Unable to interpret that remark, Veronica let her go, feeling useless. Of the two of them, JD would have been better at comforting someone; he was better at emotions than Veronica ever had been. Poor Heather was stuck with her though.

She huffed a little and followed Heather through the living room and into the office. “Look, I’m—”

“It’s alright,” Heather said smoothly. “I understand. I would rather know the truth.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Veronica said. She never lied to clients, and anyways she didn’t want to lie to Heather.

An emotion Veronica didn’t dare name flitted across Heather’s face when she met Veronica’s eyes, but it was gone only a moment later. “Thank you.”

The silence felt strangely loaded, as though there was something one of them should have been saying. Veronica couldn’t think of anything, so she stumbled into an awkward topic change.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Veronica offered. “I’m going to stay and maybe do another sweep of the house later, but is there anything you need now?”

Heather shook her head. “No, thank you. I appreciate that you’re staying. If you have somewhere to be, I could call Heather or Heather.”

Veronica shook her head a little too hard. “No! You don’t have to do that. I’m not doing anything, and anyway I told JD to come here when his—” She stopped, not wanting to share where JD was if he hadn’t mentioned it to Heather already. “Once he’s free.”

If she noticed the hesitation and was suspicious, Heather gave no indication. “Right. Well, um, is there anything you’d like to do?”

Laughing, Veronica shook her head. “You can just go about your day; pretend I’m not even here.” Everything she and JD had read when they’d first tried to get into bodyguarding had said that the best guards were present but invisible, and that the client should feel comfortable ignoring them.

Of course Veronica wanted to be good at her job, but she didn’t want Heather to ignore her, so it was a relief when she shook her head. “No, I… I’d rather not. I keep trying to settle down with my script and my mind runs away with me.”

“What do you normally do to calm down?”

For a moment, Heather’s eyes were very far away, before she returned her focus to Veronica. “I watch movies or work out sometimes. I guess it depends.”

“Do you want to do one of those now?”

Heather glanced away. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Veronica assured her, surprised to find that she meant it even though she wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to.

A smile split across Heather’s face, erasing some of the lines that had been etched into it since Veronica arrived. She reached for Veronica’s hand and Veronica started to take it when Heather wrenched her hand back like she’d been burned.

“Sorry.” She whispered, her smile gone. “The study is this way.”

* * *

Heather felt like she was sitting on an electrified fence. Her spine tingled with restless energy that no amount of focus would dispel and each time she looked at Veronica her face felt too hot while her hands turned to ice. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but Veronica hadn’t noticed.

She was surprisingly engrossed in the movie, watching Alice in one of her earliest roles and staring wide eyed at what were probably very familiar features, and she watched with all the fascination of someone watching a movie for the first time.

“Have you seen this one?” Heather asked, feeling that she probably should have asked this before she’d put it on.

Veronica shook her head. “No. I’ve never seen one of JD’s mom’s movies.”

 Heather’s jaw dropped. “Never? Not even one?” Another head shake. “But—"

“He doesn’t like watching them,” Veronica said, and Heather detected a note of warning in her voice. “It wasn’t… her life wasn’t as glamorous as it looked.”

There were parts of that story that Heather had heard, mostly just rumors, though the fact that the only time JD had mentioned his father was referencing how he wanted to get away from him leant some credence to them. “Oh.”

“I wouldn’t ask him about it,” Veronica said. “He can be a little weird about it.”

“We talked about it a little yesterday,” Heather admitted. “I didn’t realize that—”

“Really?” Surprise colored Veronica’s voice, and Heather glanced over, trying to determine what was going on in her head.

She tried to explain. “It just came up, I asked about how the two of you met and he was telling me a little about—”

“JD talked about himself?” Veronica had turned fully to face Heather.

“Yeah, a little, I guess.”

There was a long, heavy pause before Veronica shrugged. “That’s new.”

Heather desperately wanted to ask about it, seeking just a little glimpse into what their world was like. She swallowed her many questions. “Right, I probably shouldn’t have pried.”

Veronica shook her head. “No, trust me, if JD didn’t want you to pry, he wouldn’t have let you.”

He had seemed completely open when they’d been talking yesterday, but Heather wondered if maybe she’d been too eager, too nosy. She kept forgetting that she was technically their boss, and she hoped he hadn’t answered her questions because he felt he had to.

“I’m sorry,” Heather said reflexively, because she didn’t know what else to say.

“Don’t be. It’s nice to know he talked about it with someone.” Veronica looked away, fixing her eyes on the woman on the screen.

“Does he normally—”

“No. Never.”

“Do you know—”

“I don’t know anything.” Her tone had hardened and she didn’t look at Heather.

It was obvious that she was lying, that she knew more than most people, but Heather was confident that Veronica would take any secrets of JD’s to her grave. To Heather, that kind of loyalty seemed romantic. Half the time she thought her closest friends would sell her out for a zero calorie McRib™.

“Have you seen JD’s movie?” Heather asked, opting to change the topic hoping that the ice on Veronica’s shoulders would melt if she did.

Veronica laughed and her posture loosened. “Yeah, we have a drinking game.”

“It’s not really my thing,” Heather admitted. “Cheesy action and all that.”

“I don’t know if it was because of JD or what, but I love every second of that movie,” Veronica admitted.

Heather was about to reply—JD was the best thing about that movie, without a doubt—but Veronica’s phone rang.

“Hey, yeah, I called. You okay?” Veronica paused to listen to his reply, nodding. “We have a situation with Heather. She got another letter and something feels off. Our guy might be escalating. Can you get here?”

Heather stared out the window, watching the traces of sunset vanish from the sky.

Veronica nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you soon. Be careful.” She hung up the phone and turned to Heather. “He’s going to come over and do another security sweep, just in case.”

It was tempting to ask if they would be willing to spend the night, but she was sure it would have sounded childish. She couldn’t imagine looking at Veronica and telling her how much she hated being alone.

 _And yet I’m always alone,_ Heather thought ruefully, then frowned at her own melodrama.

“So where are Heather and Heather?” Veronica asked, oblivious to Heather’s thoughts.

“Heather’s at a modelling gig and Heather’s at some networking event; I think she’s already fishing for my next project.”

“That has to be exciting, right?” Veronica prodded.

Heather appreciated Veronica’s attempt to get her out of her head, but part of her would have rather just watched the movie and pretended that Heather and Heather didn’t exist. “I guess.”

“What would you want it to be?”

That tripped Heather up. She wasn’t sure she’d ever been asked what kind of role she wanted. Heather sometimes let Heather have final say in what she would do, but all the roles she tried for were chosen based on the image they had crafted carefully.

For a long moment she was silent while she tried to figure out an answer. “Another period piece,” She said. “I like all the costume stuff and learning about the history.” She looked at Veronica, feeling oddly like she was waiting to find out if she’d gotten the answer right.

“I could see that being fun,” Veronica said in a voice that didn’t match her words. She looked like she was about to say something else, but Heather stopped her, pointing at the screen.

“Hold on, watch this, it’s the best part.”

Veronica watched, eyebrows lifted as the camera held on Alice, perfectly framed as she delivered an utterly devastating verbal blow to a character who had seemed to be her love interest throughout the film.

Heather murmured the words along with her. When she was younger this scene had made her cheer; it was the first time she’d watched a movie where the beautiful girl didn’t end up with the rude man at the end.

She turned to Veronica. “Isn’t it great?”

Veronica just nodded with a bemused smile. “Yeah, very good.”

They fell silent again to watch the third act of the film play out. Heather found herself leaning slightly closer to Veronica than was necessary, but she didn’t dare touch her. What if Veronica suspected something? What would she say?

Heather shuddered and shifted away; it was just safer.

* * *

JD flew down the highways, letting the wind whip past his mostly obscured face. He felt good, as he usually did after a meeting, but still a little raw and he wished he could have gone home and been alone for a little while.

Still, if Heather needed them they would be there, so he continued on towards her house, weaving through the sparse traffic which was ever-present in the city. He pulled up in front of Heather’s house and paused before walking in. Perhaps it was lingering hyper-vigilance from walking in the neighborhood where his meetings were, but something felt wrong.

He pulled out his phone and sent Veronica a quick text. _Smth weird outside. Stay with H._

Wishing he’d had the forethought to bring the gun, JD crept up to Heather’s house around the side, sticking to the shadows and praying that he wasn’t about to trip over the intruder.

He heard a rustle in the bushes up ahead and paused to listen carefully.

 _I’m about to be mauled by a fucking coyote,_ JD thought, continuing forward.

The rustle sharpened into the distinct sound of footsteps and JD lunged at the shadowy figure in front of him, barely brushing his fingers against his jacket.

“RON!” He shouted, praying Veronica would hear and magically figure out what he needed her to do.

Still scrambling after the intruder, JD tripped and fell to the ground, landing hard on his knee. He didn’t have time to pause and assess the damage as he fumbled back to his feet and took off in pursuit of whoever it was.

“JD?” He could hear Veronica, voice pitched high with alarm, somewhere in front of the house.

“Back here!”

He fell again, still fighting to keep up, but he was losing hope. The further they got into the valley behind Heather’s house, the harder it was to see, and he was losing his footing.

Looking around wildly, he searched for the figure, but couldn’t make anything out in the thick darkness. “Get back here, you fuck!”

“JD?” Veronica’s voice was closer now, but still too far off to help.

When he fell again, he stayed down, too sore and exhausted to force himself back to his feet.

“V?” He called weakly, hoping she wouldn’t trip on him and fall down the valley.

“Are you alright?” She stumbled and slid partway down to him, catching herself before she landed on top of him.

He shrugged. “I’ll live. Can you help me up?” She gripped his arm and pulled him up, barely catching him when he staggered on his injured leg. “Christ. I think I need help getting up there, I need to check this out.”

Veronica pulled out her phone and pointed it at JD’s leg, letting out a quiet gasp when she saw it. JD didn’t look; it would only hurt worse once he’d seen it.

“C’mon, we shouldn’t leave Heather.”

“I chased him off,” JD said as he and Veronica started the limping climb up the hill. He turned and looked back, but couldn’t see anyone lingering in the shadows around him.

Veronica turned to look with him. “Do you think he’ll come back? What should we tell Heather?”

“No idea. And I’m not sure. How’s she doing?”

“The letter freaked her out but by the time you texted she was doing alright. This is going to ruin that.”

When they finally got back to Heather’s house, she was pacing, hair and eyes wild as she did laps around her living room. She stopped when she saw JD, and her eyes widened enough that he wondered how bad he looked.

“Oh my god. I didn’t… Oh my god.”

He tried to wave off her concern, but gesturing with a palm split open from one of his many falls didn’t seem to soothe her. “It looks worse than it is,” He assured her, wincing as he sat down.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” Veronica asked. She, at least, was calm and present as she slipped into the same efficient mask she always wore when she had to patch up some injury of his. He’d kicked most of his worst habits, but there wasn’t a Bar-fighting Anonymous group he could join, so she’d had to haul his miserable ass home and fix him up as best as she could more often than he liked to admit.

Veronica had no medical experience—she was an average girl from Ohio with a degree in criminal justice—but she had done this often enough that she knew what to do.

Heather on the other hand, fluttered around and tried to be helpful but she seemed too anxious to focus on anything. She kept jerking her head to look out the window as if expecting a Michael Myers-esque specter to be standing out there with a knife, ready to get her.

“Can you get me some wet paper towels?” Veronica said to Heather, and she stumbled in her haste to complete her task.

“Thank you,” JD muttered. “She was making me anxious.”

“I know. Your leg is twitching.”

He had wondered why the pain had gotten worse. With a little focus he managed to keep his leg still while Veronica gently peeled torn scraps of bloody fabric away from it.

Veronica sat back and bit her lip. “I need these out of the way, you’ll have to take them off.”

Heather, who had just returned holding some towels, paled. “I’ll go see if I can find another pair of pants for him.”

JD watched her go. “She must have a thing with blood, I feel bad.”

Nodding absently, Veronica kept her full focus on the gash in his leg. “She’s too nice to say anything though, don’t worry. You won’t have to ride back tonight I don’t think.”

“I wouldn’t want to. For all we know that bastard’s just waiting for us to leave. Christ! Warn a guy, would you?”

“It hurts worse if you’re expecting it,” Veronica said, smiling innocently up at him as she continued to dab his leg with alcohol.

Slowly, he inched his pants off, enduring the sharp, stinging discomfort of yanking fabric away from where it was already caked onto the skin with dried blood. His stomach turned over but he breathed through the impulse to be sick.

Heather reentered the room and froze, horror stricken at the sight of the gash. “Oh my god. Um, here I found…” She set a pair of sweatpants down on the table next to her, well out of JD’s reach.

 Veronica was far too focused on the task at hand to notice what was going on with Heather, so the room grew quiet as Heather looked anywhere but at him.

That was when he realized he was listening to _her_ voice. It was quiet, probably from a tv in a different room, but there was no mistaking it.

“Turn the TV off,” He demanded, probably too sharply.

Heather jumped, her eyes going wide and round. “Right. Sorry.” She skittered off, and JD immediately felt bad.

The sting of Veronica’s continued treatment was satisfying, a just punishment for being rude to Heather, who couldn’t have possibly known how much he didn’t want to listen to the way his mother spoke when she was on camera.

 _You don’t understand,_ He wanted to tell Heather, _She was nothing like all that. He made her up._ But he kept his mouth shut.

“You didn’t have to snap at her,” Veronica said, her voice only slightly accusing.

He nodded. “I know, but… She shouldn’t—”

“Let her believe what she wants to believe, JD. What good will it do to tell her the truth?”

He swallowed hard and looked away from Veronica, hoping that if she saw the thin shine of tears in his eyes, she would attribute it to his wound. “You’re right.”

After a few minutes, Veronica had stopped the bleeding and cleaned out the gash, closing it with a bandage. “That should do it.”

JD stood gingerly and pulled on the pair of sweatpants Heather had brought for him. He wondered vaguely where she’d gotten them, because though they were small on him, they would have been comically large on her.

“Heather you can come in now, I’m decent,” JD called.

Heather poked her head into the room tentatively. “Are you alright?”

“Not dead yet,” He said with a smile that made Heather frown. He steadied himself on a chair and made his way slowly over to the couch, where he settled down into the expensive fabric.

His joke didn’t land with Heather, whose face was still a little too pale. “Did he… what happened?”

JD shot a quick look at Veronica, who appeared to be studying the floor intently. “He got away, Heather. I’m sorry. I tried to chase him but,” He gestured at his useless leg.

“I should have gone after him,” Veronica said. “I saw you and stopped, but I could have—”

“No,” Heather said quickly. “He was hurt, of course you helped him.” JD thought there was some hidden sadness in her eyes, but the look was gone before he could study it.

His head was starting to ache; he’d had a hell of a day, but before he could let himself pass out, he pulled out his phone and called Holden while Veronica filled Heather in on what had happened.

“Hey, JD. Normally I’d be thrilled about this but tonight’s—”

“Not that kind of call, Hold. Sorry.”

“Oh. Right. What’s up?”

“I’m with that client I was telling you about. The stalker case? Tonight someone was prowling around in her yard.”

“Damn. Okay, I don’t think I can come over tonight but I’ll see if I can get a guy to drive around her neighborhood a couple times.”

JD nodded. “Thanks, Holden.” He gave him the address and hung up, reeling slightly that Holden wasn’t opposed to random late night phone calls from him.

“He said he’d send someone to patrol the neighborhood.”

Heather chewed her lip, looking out the large window over the hill the stranger had disappeared on. “I… I’m glad to hear someone is coming but… Well—”

“We’d be happy to stay if you need us,” Veronica offered, reaching out and putting a comforting hand on Heather’s shoulder.

Relief flooded Heather’s face and she leaned into the touch, looking up at Veronica with undisguised devotion.

JD looked away, biting back a small, unbidden twinge of bitterness. It was only a matter of time before Veronica fell for the beautiful actress, and he would be left watching their happiness.

_If we can’t work together, who the hell can we be with?_


	8. No Use Crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, not really back because I'm dealing with some rough personal stuff, but writing is distracting so I do it sometimes. Enjoy!

Heather couldn’t settle down. She had barely slept and had risen with the sun as usual, but sitting in her kitchen with a cup of coffee, she still felt nearly as panicked as she had the night before.

Veronica was passed out in a guestroom upstairs, but JD had opted to sleep on the couch. Whether that was because he wanted to be the first line of fire if someone tried to break in—as he had said—or because his leg was hurting him too badly to make it up the stairs, Heather wasn’t sure.

It was still early, but Heather hadn’t heard a single noise from either of them the whole night, which she envied. She’d slept fitfully, tossing in and out of nightmares while she waited for the sun to rise.

A part of her had somewhat expected them to share a room, but she was pleasantly surprised when they didn’t. She shouldn’t have been, and it might not mean anything, but she still clung to the lame hope that Veronica was single. Not that it mattered; Heather had no clue how to flirt with a girl even if she wanted to, and she wasn’t convinced Veronica was a good idea.

As always, Heather’s taste in women leaned towards the most complicated ones she could find, though she wasn’t convinced there was any other kind. Heaven knew she wasn’t easy to handle.

“Morning.”

Heather turned sharply to look at JD. He looked rough, his hair out of place and his voice—already somewhat raspy—was made lower with sleep. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and he was carefully favoring his injured leg.

“Good morning,” Heather said, wishing she didn’t sound so strange and childish. “How are you feeling?”

JD glanced down at himself, and she wondered if he saw all the things she’d been judging him for. “You know, believe it or not, I’ve looked worse.”

“I know,” Heather said without thinking. “I’ve seen your mugshot.” She immediately slapped her hand over her mouth wondering what on earth had possessed her to say that out loud.

But JD laughed. “Christ, I’ll never live that down, will I?”

Heather shrugged. “It wasn’t your best angle. Or lighting.”

“It’s no one’s best angle or lighting, trust me,” JD said with an exaggerated shudder. “Can I have some of that?” He pointed to the coffee pot.

“Oh, shit, of course. Sorry, I should have offered.” Heather fussed around, grabbing a mug and pouring coffee for him.

“Thanks.” He smiled, and Heather remembered suddenly that in his brief career, he’d been a good actor. There was a subtle charm about him, despite his rather scrappy appearance, that even Heather found compelling, if not exactly attractive. “You have a nice place. I think that’s the best couch I’ve ever crashed on.”

“You should thank Heather; she picked it out.”

He laughed. “Right. I’ll be sure to do that. Which one, because I know I’ll get it wrong.”

“The hot one,” Heather said reflexively. That was how she always separated them for other people. Heather was the hot one, and Heather was the powerful one.

“Which one are you?” He asked.

“What?”

JD smiled. “If she’s the hot one, and the other one is, I don’t know, the scary one? Which one are you?”

Heather froze, shocked into silence. “I don’t know.” She had probably been the good one in school, though she’d gotten into as much trouble as the others, mostly because she was always there when they got into trouble. Now she supposed she was the boring one, the least successful one.

Whether she liked it or not, Heather and Heather were both outstanding at their jobs, especially considering how young they were. Heather was the only one who didn’t have a parent who could buy her a better starting place, so she hadn’t made it quite as far yet.

“What got you into acting?”

She shook herself, hating that he seemed to be following her thoughts, despite his oblivious expression. “I liked it before my dad died, but after… It was nice to be able to be someone else for a while.”

He nodded.

“What about you?” It felt good to be able to toss his words back at him, to have him be the one caught off guard.

“What do you think?” He said, spreading his arms out. “Between my mom’s job and my dad’s, I never had a choice.”

“And when you had a choice you picked private investigator?”

“And bodyguard!”

“Right. You have a hell of a resume Jason Dean.”

He shrugs. “I’ve lived a weird life.”

The shuffling sound of steps on stairs paused their conversation as Veronica walked in, bleary-eyed and messy-haired in a way that made Heather’s heart pound. Her cheeks felt hot and her skin was too itchy. Could Veronica tell? Would they know what she was thinking about?

“Coffee.” The single word dropped out of Veronica’s mouth like drunk man passing out on a dirty barroom floor.

JD handed her his cup, which she drank without hesitation, in full, without taking a breath while he poured himself another.

“Not a morning person?” Heather asked, attempting to be conversational, but failing when she stumbled over the first words and had to start over.

Veronica looked at Heather, her normally depthless brown eyes were glassed over. Heather expected words, but none came, just that long stare that brought Heather’s blush back in full force, though she was now sure that Veronica wasn’t awake enough to notice it.

After she had finished a second full cup of coffee—this one consumed in three sips rather than one—Veronica appeared to wake up some.

“Anything from your police contact?” Veronica asked.

JD checked his watch. “Well, it’s six am so unless he went to work today—unlikely since he did overtime last night—he’s probably not awake.”

“Shit, do you charge for overtime?” Heather asked, reminding herself sharply that these two were technically in her employ.

Veronica and JD exchanged a quick look before JD finally said, “Well, honestly, we’ve never had to figure that out before.”

“Oh. Well… What about with the other people you’ve had to, you know, guard?”

Another look. This time Veronica answered. “You’re actually… Our first.”

“Oh.”

Heather wasn’t sure how to respond. She had known they were young, and had somewhat suspected their inexperience. “How do you… know what you’re doing?”

“Well, no offense, Heather, but guarding you hasn’t been much work, excluding last night of course,” JD said. “We have the skills that are necessary, but we understand if you don’t want to trust us on that and would rather switch to a company with more experience.”

It didn’t take much thought before Heather answered. “No, I like— I mean, I’d rather stay with you.” She felt safe with them, and they hadn’t done anything wrong. JD had proven that he was willing to get hurt trying to keep her safe, it seemed unfair to fire him after that.

Veronica smiled. “Thank you, Heather. We’ll get this figured out, I promise.”

“Oh, um, thank you. I… thanks.” Heather wanted to smack herself. Every time Veronica smiled she lost the ability to speak like a normal person.

JD took a sip of his coffee, hiding a smile that irritated Heather for some reason. When he was finished he offered her a shrug. “If you’d like us to charge overtime, we won’t argue though.”

Veronica elbowed him.

“No, it’s alright, really. I feel like I owe you after last night.”

Before either of them responded, Heather’s phone rang, the distinctive chime that meant that Heather was calling her. As usual, she didn’t wait for a greeting. “Are you awake? Good, we need to meet at the studio; I’ve got news.”

“Is it something bad? Last night—”

“Of course it’s not bad, Heather. Heather is already on her way, so you’d better hurry.” Heather rarely stopped for breath when she was on the phone, and she always spoke like she was calling while hurrying from one place to another.

Heather was about to reply, but Heather had already hung up the phone. She turned to JD and Veronica. “Duty calls. I have to go to the studio.”

“I need to check in with Holden,” JD said. “I can meet you there later, Veronica do you want to—”

At the same time, Veronica had started, “I really need a shower—”

“You’re welcome to stay here if you’d like,” Heather said quickly, “I can have Ori drive me over.”

“I’ll meet you over there,” Veronica said. “JD, want to join us later?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll check in if I have anything to report.”

* * *

JD skipped the polite step of calling and went right to Holden’s apartment, grabbing two coffees and a couple bagels from a café on the way over. He knocked on the door and was startled when Holden pulled it open after a moment and JD stared, startled at his appearance.

“Jesus,” He muttered before he could stop himself. “Man, you look like—” He stopped, unable to find a metaphor that was both funny and accurate.

“Don’t, JD. Just give me the coffee and maybe I’ll think about letting you in.”

JD handed it over without another word and followed Holden into the apartment. He sat down on the couch and looked up at JD, his bloodshot eyes red-rimmed and exhausted.

“Shit, what happened to you?” JD said before he thought about it.

Holden dragged his hand through his hair, forcing it out of it’s usually neat style. “Have you heard of Courtney Hunt?”

“Yeah, weren’t you at her house—”

“She killed herself last night.”

“Fuck.” It was far from the most sympathetic thing he could have said; as usual he’d just dropped out the first word that popped into his head. “Weren’t you just—”

“There dealing with a break-in? Yeah. We thought she was fine. Christ, I thought she was milking it for the cameras. Something must have happened though, maybe we missed something and—”

“There probably wasn’t anything you could do,” JD said. “Whatever happened with her, whatever got her there, she was already there before this happened.”

“I found her. She was…” He shook his head and didn’t continue.  JD was secretly relieved; he didn’t want the details.

Very carefully, JD reached out and put his arm around Holden’s shoulders, expecting him to pull away every second. Holden leaned in closer. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I mean, they tell you there’ll be bodies but… jesus. She was empty.”

JD shuddered again, the uncalled for image of his mother surfacing in his mind and making his stomach turn. “Yeah.”

_I need to tell Heather,_ He thought. She had known Courtney and this was big news; she had a right to find out from someone familiar. Still, he couldn’t make himself pull away from Holden. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Holden mumbled. The silence got strange and heavy, JD sat there, not sure how to proceed or what to say.

Too much time went by. Holden pulled himself out of JD’s arms. “I think I should sleep or something.”

“Do you want me to—”

“No, JD. I think you should go home.”

The dismissal was cutting, though JD didn’t flinch. “Right, I’ll call you later and—”

“Don’t bother. I’ll call you.”

His tone suggested that he wouldn’t call. “Holden,” JD stopped, sure that he wanted to say something, but unable to find the words.

“Thanks for, I don’t know, trying I guess. Have a good day.”

“Wait, Holden—”

Holden opened his apartment door; JD was dismissed. He walked out with his head down like a coward, trying to figure out where his failure had started and if there was a way to patch it up.

On the other side of Holden’s threshold, JD turned around. “If you need anything—”

He cut him off again. “Yeah. Thanks.”

For a long minute, JD stood frozen outside Holden’s building, unsure and paralyzed. Finally he pulled out his phone and woodenly dialed a number he hadn’t even realized he’d memorized.

“Shama? Hey, it’s me. Can we meet sometime?”

“Fuck, did you—”

“No,” He said quickly. “It’s not that, I just… Something came up that reminded me of some stuff and… I guess it got me thinking about it.”

“Yeah, I’m working right now, but we can meet later. In the meantime, what’s your plan to avoid using?”

He hadn’t gotten that far, he’d just called her on impulse. “Um, I think I’ll go find Veronica. She’s working right now and I can help, that’ll keep my mind off it and she wouldn’t let me do anything dumb.”

“It’s not anyone’s job to let you or stop you from using, JD. That’s on you.”

“Yeah, Shama, I know, I just meant she’d make sure that if I made the wrong call I felt really guilty about it.” Shama’s boundless energy was a gift, and had been essential to the early part of their partnership, but it could be exhausting, especially with everything JD had on his mind.

He could picture her serious nod from the other side of the phone. “Okay. We’ll talk later about meeting up, okay?” She finished with a couple words of encouragement in Arabic that JD couldn’t understand, though he appreciated the effect; Shama was a comforting presence, and her voice in her first language was even more so, even if JD had no earthly idea what she was actually saying.

Feeling slightly less shitty, JD climbed on his bike and headed towards Heather’s studio. He hadn’t been lying; he was sure working would distract him, but he would have to give Heather the news first.  

The girls were fluttering around looking like butterflies in their colorful, silky designer clothes while Veronica stood in the corner like a shadow, her eyes trained on Heather.

The activity didn’t stop when JD walked in, though he felt it should have. His mood would have fit better with stepping in and all the bright music stopped and the girls fluttered to the ground to stare at him, shocked at the intruder who had ruined their peace. But they didn’t. In fact, they didn’t seem to notice his presence at all, except for Veronica.

“You alright?” She looked at him, clearly already knowing the answer.

He sighed, unable to even fake a nod.

“Is Holden okay? Did something happen? Oh shit, he wasn’t outed—”

“Courtney’s dead.” In the space of his short conversation with Holden and his many rehearsals of this revelation while driving here, JD had placed himself on first name basis with Courtney Hunt. Somehow, in death she was more tangible to him, more real than she had been when she was alive.

That should have been the proverbial record-scratch moment when all the activity finally ground to a halt, but it wasn’t. Instead, the words carried slowly over to Heather who stopped moving so quickly that Heather McNamara bumped into her.

“What?”

Fuck. All his practice suddenly vacated his mind, leaving JD scrambling for a way to explain, to say something.

“Oh my god Courtney the bitch is dead!” Heather McNamara said, looking up from her phone.

_Too slow,_ He thought, feeling more than a little bitter that Heather had had to hear it that way.

“What?” She paused before turning back to JD, “Wait, how did you know?”

“I have a cop friend; he’s the one who found the body.”

“They’re saying it’s a suicide,” Heather McNamara said, reading from her phone.

“Did she leave a note or anything?” Of course Heather Chandler would ask something like that, equal parts practical and cold.

JD shook his head. “Most people don’t.”

Heather looked up at him, her eyes soft. “I’m sorry, this must remind—”

“Please don’t.” He found himself holding his hand up as though he could physically block her words from getting to him.

They were silent for a moment while Heather McNamara scrolled for more articles and Heather Chandler called someone at her agency, probably searching for news in her own channels.

Heather crossed the room to stand between JD and Veronica.  “I can’t… She was just alive. Fuck, that sounds dumb; that’s how it always is, isn’t it?” She chewed her lip.

Veronica, very hesitantly, reached out and put her hand on Heather’s back. “It’s alright.”

“It’s just that we were just making fun of her, I mean, we hate her, you know? Courtney is the worst. Was… she was the worst. Fuck am I not allowed to say that anymore?” She looked up at JD, her eyes bright with panic.

He found it in himself to smile at her. “It’s okay. You can say whatever you want about her.”

“She was a bitch, but… maybe she needed help.”

“You probably shouldn’t give her eulogy,” JD said, and they all laughed before the sudden realization of how fucked up the joke was hit them and they fell awkwardly silent.

* * *

 

Heather was granted thirty minutes of reprieve while they went over what had happened to Courtney. When that time was up, Heather was right back to business.

“There’s nothing we can do, and we have to be ready for the launch party. I’m sorry, Heather, but you know how it goes.”

Heather believed that Heather’s cool sympathy was genuine, though anyone looking at her wouldn’t have been able to tell. Heather had long prided herself on her ability to read Heather’s subtle mood and the way her emotions played under the surface of her granite-perfect face.

“The show must go on,” Heather agreed, though her calm was even more of an act than usual. Heather’s big news earlier had been that Marsha was hosting a launch party before they all went off to start filming, but with the news about Courtney, Heather couldn’t get herself into a party mood. Courtney had been a slightly more successful version of Heather, and the idea of their similarity was haunting and sickening.

These thoughts would never have occurred to either of Heather’s closest friends but especially Heather M, who rarely carried a strong emotion for more than an hour or so. Heather’s words had been a signal to her, and she went right back to work on the fluttery dress she’d selected for the launch party. It was—as always—green, but this time the shade was so pale it was only barely distinguishable from white in the right light.

“It’s almost like your hair,” Heather told her, smiling at her friend.

The compliment didn’t land. “Damn, I hope not. I was going for an ice white. Of course, my stylist is from LA he has no idea what that looks like.”

Rolling her eyes, Heather flipped her hair over her shoulder. “What else do we need for that night? We’re short on time.”

“Just a decision on shoes. I want to keep hair, makeup, and jewelry simple.”

“Those,” Heather said, before Heather could begin to voice her feelings on the shoe issue.

Heather had, of course, picked the elegant pair that looked painful and clumsy, but Heather was too tired to argue.

She glanced back at JD and Veronica, who were leaning into each other and talking about something quietly. Heather wished she could have been standing between them again. She had been drawn to the small space between them when the news had broken, and she’d found it a surprisingly pleasant place to stand, despite the dark mood.

She also had an almost childish desire to know what they were saying. It felt like being on the playground, watching the popular kids whisper amongst themselves and dying to know whose secrets they were spilling. _Let me be a part of that,_ She wanted to say.

But she stayed silent and let Heather and Heather rotate around her, reminding her that—on this playground—they were the popular kids and JD and Veronica were the inevitable satellites.

“Heather? You in there?” Heather waved her tan, perfectly manicured—bright gold—hand in front of Heather’s face. “Any ideas?”

She ignored Heather and turned to Heather. “Ideas for what?”

“A date. It might be a good idea to bring someone.”

Heather gagged involuntarily. “No, it’s a launch party for the cast, I shouldn’t bring—”

“Everyone will bring someone, Heather. I can put a list together—”

“I’ll bring JD and Veronica,” Heather said decisively, almost in a panic.

Hearing their names, the two looked up from their hushed conversation.

“You’ll do what to who?” JD asked.

“My thoughts exactly,” Heather M muttered under her breath, eyeing the duo.

“Heather,” Heather said slowly, “They cannot be your dates. Him especially, I mean, think of what people will say if you bring _that guy_ to the party.”

“Seriously,” Heather echoed.

Heather was sure that Heather was talking about JD’s record and Heather was talking about his wardrobe, but their opposition only strengthened her resolve. “I’d like to bring them, if you’ll go.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Heather’s right, Heather. I can’t go to something like that.” He shook his head, making a face like he’d seen roadkill.

“Veronica?” Heather asked.

Veronica looked away. “I don’t think… It’s not really my scene, Heather.”

“Besides,” Heather said, “We don’t have time to fix all _that._ ” She gestured at their respective outfits, both of which were dominated by flannel and black jackets, practical and simple but far from fashionable.

Heather saw Veronica’s jaw twitch. “What’s there to fix?”

“You,” Heather answered immediately, while Heather bristled.

“She doesn’t need you to fix her,” She snapped, harsher than she’d meant to.

A phone interrupted the conversation, and Heather was about to snap at Heather for the interruption before JD answered it, tossing a quick, “Sorry, I have to take this,” Over his shoulder. He looked at Veronica. “It’s Shama.”

After he’d left the room, Veronica shrugged and said, “His NA sponsor.” Her tone indicated that they shouldn’t ask about that any more.

Immediately, Heather went back to the conversation at hand, turning to Veronica with beseeching eyes. “Please. This would really mean a lot to me; I just can’t imagine going back out into a crowd like that right now.”

There was a long pause where the silence was so thick Heather could hear JD pacing in the hall outside. Finally, Veronica nodded. “Yes, we can do that. We’ll have to deal with some boundary stuff and find a way to make it work, and if the party gets wild at all, we’re gone. JD… Neither of us want to be in that environment.”

“Yes, of course, absolutely,” Heather said, too eagerly. “I completely agree; I don’t want that either.”

Behind her, she could practically hear Heather and Heather rolling their eyes, but she ignored them. “Thank you.”

After a couple minutes, JD returned. “What did I miss?”

“We’re going,” Veronica said.

His face was unreadable when he said, “Alright then,” Leaving Heather to wonder what he was thinking.

Heather stared between JD and Veronica. “It’s going to take me some time to figure them out. Maybe all night—”

“That’s ridiculous—” Heather started, sure that a professional stylist should be able to figure out a way to make two already-attractive people look good for a single party in less than twelve hours, but Heather cut her off.

“I can’t work miracles, Heather. I’ll call you when I have something.”

Letting out a sigh, Heather nodded and left the room to change out of her party dress and back into her normal clothes. When she got back to the room, Heather was circling JD and Veronica like a predator, eyeing them up and down with a sharp, critical eye.

“I’d like to go home,” Heather said, which perked JD and Veronica up immediately as they shifted and escaped Heather’s sharp, dark eyes.

Together, the three of them fled out of the studio and down to the street where Ori was miraculously waiting with the car. Heather dove into the comforting shelter while Veronica followed her.

“I’ll follow on the bike,” JD said, twitching his hand in a wave.

Finally away from Heather and Heather’s distracting presences, the reality started to sink back in that Courtney was dead.

Veronica reached out and put her hand back on Heather’s back, which she tried not to lean too far into; it had been a long time since someone had touched her so casually. “I’m sorry, Heather. Even if you didn’t like her, it’s… weird, and that’s hard.”

“Yeah.” Tentatively, Heather leaned down and rested her head on Veronica’s shoulder, which the other girl allowed without question.

They drove the whole way like that, in silence while Heather dug through her thoughts about Courtney and tried not to think too hard about Veronica’s nearness and the casual intimacy of being able to smell her own shampoo in another girl’s hair.

By the time she arrived in her driveway, Heather had taken so many deep breaths that she felt almost calm and she walked up the stairs to her house with Veronica right next to her.

JD arrived moments after them and followed the two up the stairs, providing a solid, comforting presence at Heather’s back.

“There’s something on your door,” He said, nudging past her to investigate.

Heather thought it was nothing, some ad or pamphlet or religion Heather ought to join, posted on her door so she couldn’t miss it, but when JD froze, Heather stepped around him to see what could have stopped him in his tracks.

It was a photo, taped to the door. And it stopped her too.

“Oh my god,” She breathed, reaching out, almost touching it to make sure it was real.

“Heather, don’t look at it,” Veronica said, tugging futilely on Heather’s arm.

She had already seen it, and she knew she could never unsee the image of Courtney, clearly dead in her bathroom, staring blankly at the ceiling. Written across the photo in thick, furious black ink were words that also seared themselves into Heather’s memory.

_You should thank me._


	9. Black Cloud Drawing Near

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get back on a regular schedule with this one. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!

Unsurprisingly, Heather couldn’t settle down after that. Veronica led her inside and JD made tea, setting the cup in front of a still shaking Heather.

“We should call the police,” Veronica said.

JD shifted slightly, and Veronica saw his argument face, but Heather sat up sharply. “No, we can’t. Let me call Heather first and—”

“Heather, your agent can’t deal with this—”

She already had her phone out and Veronica watched as her narrow, shaking hands cradled the phone and dialed the number. In tripping, frail words Heather explained what had happened, then put the phone on speaker so they could all listen to her agent’s response.

“Christ, what does that mean? Thank him for what?”

“For the murder, I think,” JD said drily. His fear was obvious to Veronica, but he was hiding it well for Heather.

“That’s disgusting,” Heather’s agent said, seemingly critiquing JD’s line of thought more than the actions of whoever was doing this.

“We really should call the police,” Veronica repeated.

Again, JD balked, but Veronica only glared at him. He didn’t have to like the LAPD—Veronica certainly didn’t—but he had to admit that they’d be in much worse trouble if they didn’t hand over what they knew.

“I don’t like that,” Heather Chandler said through the phone, sounding slightly winded like she was power walking somewhere. “Heather is finally starting to hit it big; a scandal like this could be bad.”

“Heather, it’s a murder,” Heather said. “God knows I love my career but for fucks sake, a woman is dead.”

“It’s only Courtney, Heather; don’t be so soft.”

“Jesus Christ,” JD said. “We _should_ call the police.”

Veronica glared at him. “What now that Heather says it’s a bad idea? Apparently your bias against agents is the only thing stronger than your bias against cops.”

“Is it really a bias if it’s justified?” He asked, pulling out his phone and dialing. As soon as the phone was ringing, he handed it to Veronica. “You should probably do this.”

She took it and took a deep breath. “Yes, hello, I have some information related to Courtney Hunt’s murder and I need to speak to a detective.”

“Miss Hunt wasn’t murdered. Who is this?

“Veronica Sawyer. I’m a private investigator and I have reason to believe that her death wasn’t a suicide.”  

“Why?”

“Can I speak to a detective, please?” Veronica said, unsure that the bored man on the phone would bother to remember what she had to say.

“You can speak to me. What do you know?”

Biting back a sigh, Veronica gave in and told him. “Someone has been sending one of my clients threats; today he sent her a picture of Courtney’s body that said ‘You should thank me’ we believe this person was taking credit for the crime. How else could he have gotten the photos?”

“Sweetie, everyone has those photos; someone leaked them to the press. Your client probably got pranked.”

“No, sir, she’s been—” The line went dead and Veronica nearly tossed JD’s phone across the room. “Fucking dumbass.”

“Cops,” JD said, nodding sympathetically.

“I’ll call again in a couple hours and hope someone else picks up. He thinks she’s being pranked.”

JD stared at her, too shocked even to make a joke about incompetent policework. “There was a picture of a dead body taped to her door.”

“The crime scene photos were leaked to the press so apparently that doesn’t mean much.”

“Well who the hell did that?” Heather burst out, tuning into their conversation after briefly checking out of the one she was having with her agent.  “That’s got to be a crime, right?”

JD grimaced. “It’s not that uncommon around here. Cops don’t make a lot of money and reporters will pay a lot for inside information about crime. I’m sure you saw the photos of my mom.”

Heather turned away, her face flushed with guilt. Veronica had to avert her eyes too. She’d looked JD up when she’d first met him, and had seen those photos too, now arguably the most famous image of his mother.

“Heather,” Heather Chandler said from the phone, calling their attention back to her. “Give me some time to call my lawyers and see where we stand with this, then we’ll talk about going back to the cops. In the meantime, stay calm. It’ll all be okay.”

Veronica didn’t think Heather looked all that comforted, but she nodded and hung up the phone, taking a long sip of tea before she looked back at JD and Veronica.

“What do you think it means? I… he’s real though, we know that now, right?”

JD glanced at Veronica and she could tell he was trying to ask her if he should say what he was thinking. He closed his eyes in distaste before he spoke. “It’s still possible this is just some creep who’s fucking with you.”

“But it’s also possible that he’s a creep who’s fucking with me and also a murderer, right? That’s possible too, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” 

Veronica reached out for Heather, but she flinched away in agitation. “Well how the fuck can we tell?” Her breathing had picked up and two bright red spots had grown on her cheeks. Her eyes were watery and frantic.

“We can’t know for sure,” JD said, “So we’re going to assume this is a legitimate threat.”

“What does that mean?” Heather ask, her voice—previously pitched high and loud with panic—dropping into something small and hollow.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “One of us stays with you at all times, both of us when you’re in public or around people. We’re going to train you in self-defense, and I think you should consider buying a weapon.”

“I’m anti-gun,” Heather said, though she didn’t seem fully aware that she had said it aloud.

JD sighed, glancing at Veronica for support. “That’s a noble sentiment, Heather,” Veronica said, rescuing JD from having to attempt delicacy. “But guns are supposed to be for people who legitimately need to protect themselves—”

“And for when the government needs to be overthrown!”

Christ, the one thing he remembered from high school government class. “Shut up, JD. Heather, you’re not some paranoid yokel who thinks you’ll defeat the terrorists with a shotgun you bought at a gun show. Someone might try to hurt you, it could—"

Heather shuddered and Veronica flinched, realizing what she’d said. They’d been dancing around it, but she was the first to admit that this sick fuck might want to hurt Heather.

Abruptly, she stood up, swaying slightly and leaning on the table before turning away from Veronica. “I… Have to go.”

She fled and Veronica and JD exchanged knowing glances while they waited for her to return from the bathroom.

“We’re not doing enough,” He whispered. “Even if this is just someone pulling a sick prank, we need to do more to figure out who it is.”

Veronica nodded. “I know. This is a big step away from random freaky letters. Even if he’s just using a leaked photo, it says something about what he wants. Can you ask Holden—”

“Probably not. He... I might need a new police contact.”

Veronica gave him her best _that sucks_ face and tried to hide her frustration. They had no leads, and now they’d lost their friend on the force. In other words, they were fucked, and it was only because Heather was on the verge of a total meltdown that she hadn’t noticed.

“We should call the police again,” JD finally admitted. “Maybe they’ll have something we haven’t thought of.”  His phone rang, but he ignored it, beginning to pace Heather’s house.

Watching him started to make Veronica dizzy so she looked away, flipping through a stack of photos Heather’s stylist had, all of them various casually posed headshots of the three girls. “We can’t lose this job, JD. We’ve got to figure our shit out.”

“We will,” He said, moving all the more frantically. “We’re going to guard her around the clock; we’ll get better security for the house. We’ll keep her safe.”

Heather stepped back into the room, her face drained of color. She looked tiny, dwarfed by the doorway in which she stood, shaking in the air-conditioning. “Do you promise?”

Veronica was about to respond when she saw JD’s jaw tightened as he said, “Yes. We promise.”

* * *

They had agreed to go to the party, so the next day, JD did his best not to vomit as Heather McNamara stepped into the room and began parading fabrics, colors, and suit designs in front of him. He liked Heather, but her team was, in his opinion, a fucking nightmare. He disliked all agents on principle, believing them to be a uniformly greedy, controlling group, but stylists weren’t usually on his list of careers to distrust. Heather McNamara couldn’t have bothered him more if she was trying to make the list.

He had promised he would go, and had promised to protect Heather, but he wished there was any other way to keep the promise aside from going to an industry party. Blurred memories of late nights, strong drinks, and stolen drugs were flashing through his mind like a badly edited movie. He didn’t want to go back to that.

Unaware of any of this, Heather was a frenetic source of energy, her cloud of perfectly curled white hair breezing around her smooth, contoured face and drowning him in the smell of her perfume every time she wafted by. While she paced, she studied him and pulled out images from magazines and runway shows, tossing out adjectives that meant nothing to him while Heather and Heather Chandler either nodded or shook their heads, almost always in sync.

Veronica appeared to be asleep in the corner, oblivious to his misery. She had been, according to Heather McNamara, very easy to style.

Her exact words were, “You can’t dress for shit, but you’re hot enough that no one will wonder what the fuck you’re doing there. Just wear black and you’ll blend right in.” She had handed her a sketch from a local designer and been done, turning to the more difficult project.

“I looked you up,” She had said, with a distaste so profound, JD wondered what she’d heard. “You didn’t have style even when you had money.”

Apparently, she thought his fashion sense was his worst crime, which made JD want to bring up his rap sheet for the first time since he’d gotten it.

“Heather, for god’s sake, just stick him in all black and let him hang out in the background; it’s fine,” Heather Chandler insisted, suddenly abandoning the effort.

Heather McNamara looked horrified. “He’s not going to be in the background, Heather. This is his reentry into relevance, it has to be right!”

“No, it isn’t,” JD said, though no one was paying attention to him. His hands twitched and he thought idly of how nice it would be to be high, just enough to blur out every grating detail of this situation.

“Look at him, Heather,” Chandler said, standing up even though Heather was noticeably taller. “There’s nothing you can do. He’s a lost cause. DOA. You can’t scrub off whatever he has. Just stick him in a suit and be done with it. I am.”

“But, Heather—”

“Did everyone forget that a woman is dead?” JD said, his irritation finally getting the better of him.

He hadn’t thought anyone would hear him, but they all did. Even Veronica’s eyes snapped open. She gave him a _Nice Going, Asshole_ look.

Heather looked wounded, retreating into her thick red hair to hide the expression. “I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, Heather,” He said, yanking on his hair in frustration.

“Some of us were trying to forget,” Heather McNamara said indignantly, like he should apologize for ruining it.

“Heather,” Veronica said in a voice JD recognized as the one she used when she had to smooth over something he’d fucked up, “I’m sure whatever you pick will be fine. JD doesn’t like to call too much attention to himself, and we’re only there to protect Heather, so something subtle and comfortable is best.”

For a moment, the were all silent, until Heather finally nodded and jotted down some notes on one of the photos she was holding. “I’ll make it work.”  

“Excellent, and I need to make sure no one hears about Heather’s weird note,” Heather said, standing and picking up her phone. “I’m sure you aren’t the only ones with police contacts.”

Heather flinched away from her agent. “We have to call the police again. I need them to know about the note.”

“Yes, right, just don’t make too many waves, Heather. There’s a lot riding on all of this.”

“I know.”

JD had to turn away, unable to bear the defeated look on Heather’s face.

He expected them to leave now that they’d given themselves tasks, but only Heather left with her sketches, photos, and notebooks in her arms. Heather remained, fussing around on her phone.

She looked up after a moment. “Heather, you have an appearance scheduled tomorrow—”

“I can’t go.”

“This has been on the books for weeks, you have to—”

“I _can’t_ go,” She repeated, now desperate.

JD kept his back to them while they hashed it out, but he was relieved when Heather appeared to win the battle.

“Fine, I’ll call it off, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when we hear about the fallout tomorrow.” The sound of expensive heels against hardwood echoed behind her as she left.

“Don’t listen to her,” JD said, patting Heather’s shoulder, which was shaking under his hand. “It’ll be fine.”

She nodded and leaned into him, surprising him slightly, but he put his arm around her shoulders into a slightly awkward sideways hug. 

A moment later, Heather pulled away, and JD hoped that he wasn’t imagining that she looked steadier, or at least a little calmer. “You’re right. It’s all going to be fine; I’m not famous enough for anyone to care if I miss an appearance.”  

That turned out to not be entirely true. The next day, several gossip sites were buzzing about Heather’s alleged breakdown. It was quiet, because Courtney’s death was still fresh enough that it made for more interesting news, but a suicide—which was still what the press thought this was, though JD had his doubts—was not as bloody and fascinating as a murder, so some people had picked up on Heather’s missed appearance.

Despite both his and Veronica’s best attempts, Heather was sitting on the floor in her office, scrolling through various gossip sites and fan pages, obsessively reading what people thought about her.

“They keep calling me her rival,” She said, looking up from the phone with round, haunted eyes. “I wasn’t really her rival, we were only up for the same things a couple times.”

“But she won that award recently, right?”

Heather nodded.

“Our guy was there,” Veronica said, looking up from the file where she’d compiled all the notes Heather had received. “That was where you first thought you saw him.”

Again, Heather nodded. “But I’m not sure. Honestly, I wasn’t feeling well that night and the note made me nervous, but I never really saw anyone who was out of place.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t there,” JD pointed out. “It just means he didn’t look out of place.” He hadn’t been able to reach Holden again, but Veronica had gotten through to the detective who was working Courtney’s case. The woman hadn’t seemed too concerned about Heather’s note.

“Hollywood crazies,” She’d said, “Will do whatever they need to create a story. Keep us posted if she gets anything else.”

Since then JD had been pacing around Heather’s house, looking for potential breaches in security and waiting for the mail to come. There was no way to know when—or if—Heather would receive another note, but the waiting was making them all stir-crazy.

Numerous times he’d had to quash the urge to ask about getting the hell out of the fucking house. His usual stress relief was parked in the driveway, but Heather had drawn all the curtains closed and JD noticed that she didn’t even get close to exterior doors. Even if she wasn’t talking about it, she was terrified of going outside, and his offers wouldn’t be helpful.

He glanced at Veronica, communicating his question— _What should we do?_ —silently.

She only shrugged, looking helplessly at Heather, so JD resumed pacing.

“Do we know who was on the invite list for the Breakout Awards?” Heather asked suddenly, looking up. “I mean, surely not just anyone can walk into those. There’s got to be a list somewhere.”

“Probably,” JD said, “Not sure we could get ahold of it. Veronica and I are technically civilians and can’t demand they turn that information over to us.”

“You can’t,” Heather said, “But Heather could. No one ever says no to Heather.”

“I believe that,” Veronica muttered.

Heather sighed. “She’s pissed at me, but I’ll ask.” Her mouth was set in a grim line as she pulled out her phone.

“I don’t like asking her for favors,” JD told Veronica while Heather was distracted.

“That’s because you hate agents, which you should really work on because obviously Heather is very important to her.”

“But she’s a bitch,” JD said, the words coming out sounding whinier than he’d meant them.

Heather covered her phone. “I know that! She’s still my best friend.” She went back to her call.

JD looked hopelessly at Veronica, gesturing to Heather. Veronica only rolled her eyes. “Leave it be, JD.”

“She needs better friends.”

“She has us,” Veronica offered.

JD knew she was right; hired or not they were Heather’s friends, but it still grated on him that she was so close to Heather and Heather. He couldn’t stand to be around both of them at once, though he’d concluded that Heather the stylist was harmlessly annoying, while Heather the agent was a manipulative control freak.

Heather hung up the phone and smiled. “She’s going to get me the list. She said she’d come by later when she has it.”

“What did you have to pay for it?” JD asked sarcastically.

She didn’t pick up on his tone. “She made me promise that no matter what I would go to the opening party.” Seeing his horrified expression, she shrugged. “It’s fine, I was going to go anyway. I think it would be rude to Marsha not to.”

That meant that JD and Veronica would have to go to, but neither of them said anything about it. Even JD wasn’t selfish enough to wish that something would happen that would scare Heather out of going to the party.

“Should we find a movie or something?” Heather said. “I can’t read this script another time.”

She tossed it on the table, which gave JD the opportunity to pick it up and leaf through it. “This looks interesting,” He said, hovering over a complex bordering on nonsensical description for a scene change.

Heather took the script back from him. “It is interesting.”

“He wasn’t being sarcastic,” Veronica informed her. “That’s just how he talks.”

“Oh,” Heather’s defensive stance dropped a bit. “Yeah. It is interesting. It’s… It’s like taking something back, I guess. There are so many movies and books that everyone calls classics, and it’s like they’re untouchable. But Marsha wants to take one and give it to women. I’m really happy to be able to be a part of it.”

“You should write that down.” JD said. “It’ll be a great answer for interviews.”

Heather flushed a bright red, ducking her head down to hide in her hair. “I’m into it. That’s all.”

“I understand,” Veronica said. “You get to make something yours; I think it’s really cool.”

“I never said it wasn’t cool!” JD insisted. “I think it’s a good idea! You’re clearly passionate about it, Heather, that’s great.”

His phone rang, rescuing him from having to continue defending himself. Shama’s name lit up the screen for the third time that day.

“Hi, you’ve reached Jason Dean, I can’t come to the phone right now because I’m dead in a ditch with a needle sticking out of my arm. Please leave a message.”

“Ha ha. Very funny, JD.” Shama didn’t sound amused, but her lilting accent made most of what she said sound just a little sardonic, or perhaps that was just her. “How are you doing? Last time we talked you were on the edge of ‘I’m having a bad day and I want to do heroin with a stripper.”

“Bullshit, I’ve never had anything to do with heroin or strippers.”

Heather was giving him a strange look, but Veronica knew him well enough to not be bothered at all.

“Really? Not a single stripper? God Dean, I never would have pegged you for a prude.”

“Is that what you’re into?” JD snapped back, “Pegging?”

He could practically hear her roll her eyes. “Jesus. Whatever, Dean. Seriously, how are you?”

JD glanced back at Heather and then then stepped out of the room so he could talk to Shama without using euphemisms. “I… V and I have a case that’s hitting a little close to home. On top of that, that guy I was kind of… on and off seeing—"

“The hot cop?”

“Yeah, him. He ended things, and that’s probably good but I’m worried about him. It’s fine though, I don’t have a supply and we’re still working the case so I can’t even get drunk.”

“I’m obligated to remind you that getting drunk isn’t a coping mechanism, JD.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re only my sponsor for narcotics, Sham. And technically it is a coping mechanism, just not a healthy one.”

“You’re ridiculous, but I’ve given up trying to get you to go to AA.”

“Would you go?” He asked, knowing the answer.

“Listen, I would rather die than let them tell me I have to pray to their pretty white Christian god.” They had bonded over their shared dislike of religiously-oriented addiction support groups.  

“And you think I’d be down for that? Shama, I’m queer.”

Shama huffed. “Well, yeah, but they’d let you through the doors. Pretty sure everyone would get nervous if I walked into their church.” He and Shama had initially bonded over their immediate outsider status in their NA meetings. From the moment he’d walked in, he’d seen her— olive-skinned and sporting rainbow socks with a clashing jacket and dyed red hair—he’d known she fit in here about as well as he did.

She’d become his sponsor shortly after, unafraid of the challenge of getting a washed-up rich kid to take care of himself.

After a moment without a reply, her voice softened. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m okay. Seriously, I shouldn’t have called you.”

“Yes, you should,” She insisted. “I saw the news, JD. About that actress—”

“If you’re thinking this is some kind of fucked up, Freudian—”

“I didn’t say that!”

When he glanced over, JD saw that Heather was giving him a strange look, despite Veronica attempting to stand between them.

“JD,” Shama said slowly, “An actress killed herself in her home. Whether you’ll admit it to me or not, I’m sure that’s a triggering situation for you. Please, _please_ talk to me or Veronica before you do something stupid, okay?”  

“Yeah, Shama, I know.”

“Promise?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. I promise. I really am okay though.” He’d thought about drugs in the same way he always did when he was stressed, vaguely, distantly, just one of many potential options, but hadn’t even started the process of trying to get any.

“I hope you’re not lying to me, Jason Dean.” With that, Shama hung up.

* * *

Veronica could tell Heather was waiting to get her alone, and she was pretty sure she knew what she would ask. She wasn’t surprised when it happened a couple hours after JD’s phone call.

“Hey, Veronica? About JD. He was talking to his NA sponsor again, right?”

Veronica nodded tensely, wishing Heather wouldn’t ask the questions she knew were coming.

“Is he okay? I mean, if he’s calling her…”

Veronica couldn’t meet Heather’s earnest gaze. She didn’t know if he was okay, and even if she didn’t want to acknowledge what Heather said, she knew it was true that JD calling Shama out of the blue wasn’t a good sign.

She was saved from answering when Heather Chandler swept into the room. As always, she was dramatically dressed in a black suit with red accents and a red tie with a fancy knot around her neck, pulling Veronica’s attention up to her wild hair and haughty expression. She carried a folder, which she shoved carelessly into Veronica’s hands as she passed.

“This is the list of non-nominees and guests who were at the breakout awards. That’s caterers, press, security, management, everyone who got to go even though they aren’t anyone.”

Veronica opened the envelope and started scanning the list of names, each in a tiny font with their designated role next to it. There had to be hundreds of names here. “Thanks, Heather.”

Heather tossed her hair. “Anything to get this ordeal over with. Heather has places to be, we can’t let this keep slowing us down.” She turned to look at Heather, who’d fallen silent when she’d arrived, like she’d slipped into Heather’s shadow. “Speaking of which, promise you won’t freak out, but I think you got another freaky letter.”

“What did I miss?” JD said, stepping into the room in time to see Heather take an envelope from Heather’s hands. “Oh no.”

Heather swallowed hard. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Veronica reached out and put her hand on Heather’s shoulder. “Do you want me to open it?”

Swallowing so hard Veronica saw the muscles in her throat work, Heather shook her head. “No.”

It felt like it took her hours to open that envelope. Even Heather Chandler didn’t make any snide remarks to cut the silence as she slowly slid the paper out so she could read it.

“ _I’m going to see you soon_ ,” She read aloud. Then she looked up, locking eyes with JD and Veronica in turn to reveal that it was scrawled on the back of an invitation to the launch party. “Oh.”


	10. Letting Me In or Letting Me Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I'd get it done in time for the weekend and I fucking delivered!!! Thanks for reading, Enjoy!

“Heather, you promised,” Were the first full words anyone managed to say, and of course Heather Chandler was the one to say them. “You said you’d go no matter what. This is a big event, people will—”

“Who gives a goddamn fuck what people say,” JD said, throwing his arms out so wide he almost backhanded Veronica, who was used to it enough to duck. “She can’t go if that creep is going to be waiting for her!”

“Actually,” Heather said slowly, twining a strand of her long, brilliant hair around her finger. “Maybe that’s why I should go.”

“What.”

“I mean… we could catch him, right?”

“Heather,” Veronica said slowly, “This isn’t a movie. We aren’t going to use you as bait.”

“You’ll be there,” Heather insisted, “I’ll be perfectly safe.”

It was a flattering assumption, but it wasn’t one Veronica felt comfortable making. “I’m not dangling you on a hook in the hopes that this guy will bite. We don’t know how dangerous he is.”

No one mentioned the gruesome photos of Courtney, but Veronica was sure they were on everyone’s mind.

“Veronica’s right,” JD said. “It’s too risky.”

“But it could be the only way!” Heather insisted. “I’m scared to go outside, even inside I feel like someone is always watching everything I do. I can’t keep doing this, and I have to go to the party anyway; we may as well use it to wrap this shit up.”

She wasn’t positive, but Veronica thought that was the first time she’d heard Heather cuss; it was kind of cute, even if it sounded strange coming from her soft, clear voice. “Heather…”

“I hired you,” Heather interrupted. “If I say we’re doing this we have to do it, right?”

JD sighed. “You know, Heather, I think my mom would have loved you. What do we need to do?”

“Are you seriously going along with this?” Veronica demanded, grabbing JD’s arm.

“Look at her, V, there’s no stopping her. We might as well help, in case punches need to be thrown.”

Fury rose in Veronica’s throat, unbidden. If asked, she wouldn’t have been able to name exactly why she was so pissed at Heather and JD right now, but it was so strong it choked her, strangling out the words she might have said. She flailed her arms, letting out a little aggravated huff.

JD shrugged. “Are you quitting or helping?”

“Fuck you,” She said, which was her way of agreeing.

“Great, now that we’re all on the same page about going to a party,” Heather Chandler said, “Can I please have a word with Heather? We have business to discuss.”

“We need to go over the list,” Veronica said, picking up the list of names they’d all nearly forgotten in the rush of reading Heather’s latest threat.

* * *

Heather let Heather usher her into the office, leaving JD and Veronica to pour over the list of Breakout Awards staff and guests and look for people who might have had access. They were also looking out for people who spent too much time on Heather’s fansites, though finding out who was behind the IP addresses and usernames would be a challenge.

Thinking about all that, it was hard to listen to Heather describe the various scripts she’d been weeding through, looking for Heather’s next project. That was how Heather always was, looking forward while completely trampling over the now. There had been times in Heather’s life—especially immediately after her father’s death—that that attitude had kept her going, but nowadays it was exhausting.

Not that her present was so pleasant at the moment, with a possible murderer after her.

“We need to talk about maintaining relevance while you’re filming Strike. You’ll be at the ass end of Canada so there won’t be many appearances. I might try to get you a guest slot on a podcast, but we should also work out a plan for regular social media posts, emphasizing videos. I’ll get Heather to work that out, it’s her specialty anyway. Have you looked over the scripts I sent the other day?”

“I glanced,” Heather said, only exaggerating slightly. “I’m just not sure. The sci-fi angle isn’t really me. And I heard Calvin what’s his name is attached to that other one, isn’t he sketchy?”

“Heather, you can’t believe every rumor you hear. I get this whole thing with Courtney and the notes has you paranoid, but you need to lighten up. Look them over, they could be a great next step.”

“Have we looked into other limited series? I loved the last one and—”

“No one watches miniseries Heather. We’re looking to make you relevant, a miniseries is where relevance goes to die.”

“This is the age of television,” Heather countered, “Most people think TV is better than movies!”

“Most people are dumber than we are. Heather, you’re a movie star. A few years from now, when you’ve gotten too old to be the leading lady, we can talk about series work, okay?”

“Right.” As always, conversations with Heather felt like a competition, and Heather was an underfunded public high school against a professional team.

“Thankfully this Courtney thing is blowing in our favor. Some fansites were saying she was your rival and the press caught wind of it. Maybe you should go out wearing yellow or looking happy—”

“I’m going to be sick,” Heather said, nausea curling in her stomach though she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.

Heather only rolled her eyes. “Jesus, this again. Can’t you pick one problem at a time?”

That stung, but Heather was too busy darting towards the bathroom to let the dig sink in.

When she emerged, she was shaking either from how little she’d eaten or from the effort of trying to bring her calorie count into the negatives.

Heather was waiting. “I need to call them back in a week, so please think about what we’re doing. We cannot afford to let everything we’ve built fall apart right now, Heather, and that means that you cannot fall apart right now.”

“I know, Heather, I’m sorry.” The words were reflexive, but painful to say. Though she was sorry for all this stress and worry, it wasn’t her fault. Not really. She couldn’t help that someone was following her. She couldn’t help that he might be a murderer.

“And we need to talk press contracts for Strike. There are going to be a lot of commitments, and Marsha might be forgiving of all your craziness—I know she pushed for you during casting—but the studio guys make the final calls, and they worry that this won’t sell.”

Heather nodded.

“Just, try to keep it together,” Heather reached out and took her hand, squeezing it and smiling gently. “For me?”

Mouth dry, Heather nodded again. “Sure, Heather. It’ll be easier once this guy is caught, then everything will be back on track.”

Heather tilted her head and smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

She walked out, her heels clicking on the floor as Heather sagged in relief. After taking a moment, she went back to the kitchen where Veronica and JD had spread out the lists and were doing frantic google searches on the people who’d been at the breakout awards.

“Anything?” Heather asked, without much hope as she got a glass of water, trying to wash the taste of bile out of her mouth.

Veronica shook her head without looking up. “Nothing too notable.”

“Really?”

“There’s one guy who’s posted about you a couple times, but he works for Heather, so I don’t think it means anything. It wasn’t creepy or anything.”

It was disappointing, but Heather wasn’t sure what to say.

“This is a lot to go through,” JD said gently, “You don’t have to stick around if you’ve got something better to do.”

She shook her head. “What am I going to do? I can’t leave my house.”

“Technically you can,” Veronica reminded her. “Just not without one of us, please.”

She wanted to say something, to demand that Veronica go with her anywhere she wanted, but she kept her silence. It was a stupid thing to want, and Veronica had to work.

JD was giving her a sympathetic look she didn’t like, but he dropped his gaze when she met it. As always, it crossed her mind to ask what he was thinking, but she was afraid he would answer honestly in front of Veronica. “Do you have any hobbies?” He asked, when the silence got a little awkward.

“What?”

“You know, hobbies? Things you do because you enjoy them?”

“I like to read?”

“But do you make things? Do you write or sew or paint or—”

“Um…” Heather had never really thought about it. “Not really. When I was younger, my dad taught me how to play chess and I always liked that, but I haven’t played in ages.”

She hadn’t played since her father died, over a decade ago.

A dark look passed over JD’s face, and Heather didn’t miss the fact that Veronica immediately reached across the table to touch his hand. “My dad taught me to play too.”

For her, it was a happy memory, Saturday mornings spent making pancakes and then playing chess for hours as he taught her about strategy and patience. Clearly his recollection wasn’t so positive.

The expression passed quickly, though she was sure she hadn’t imagined it. “Do you want to play?”

Heather glanced at Veronica. “Don’t you have… something to do?”

Veronica shrugged. “I can do it myself, and JD’s right, sitting around obsessing over this won’t help you. You’re paying us enough to make us obsess for you.”

“But—”

“Just try to think about something else for however long it takes you to beat me at chess; how’s that sound?” JD raised one eyebrow as he offered the compromise.

Heather thought it over, then nodded, stretching out her hand. “Deal.”  

* * *

Heather was thoroughly whooping his ass at chess, but he didn’t mind because for the first time since he’d met her, she seemed almost relaxed. Her eyes were fixed on the pieces in front of her, and she rarely spoke unless she was commenting on the game. Her eyes, sharp and green, traced moves that hadn’t happened yet, planning perfectly. It was amazing to watch, enough so that his already bad playing was made infinitely worse because he was distracted.

“You’re really smart,” He said, almost absently as he watched her make a move that would destroy his flimsy strategy and win the game in three moves.

A small, sad expression crossed her face. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“I’m sorry,” He said sincerely, “I meant—”

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just… Never mind.”

“What?” He prodded.

She looked away, picking up a piece of his that she’d claimed and tracing its lines. “I don’t know. It’s dumb, but sometimes it feels like being the smart one is kind of lame.”

He snorted. “Trust me, Heath, as someone who’s been the very dumb one for most of his life, being smart is good.”

“You weren’t dumb,” Heather said, and it sounded like a reflex to him, which was almost sweet. “It’s just… you were dealing with a lot.”

“Dealing with it badly,” He pointed out. “It’s not as simple as it probably looked from outside. And not everything they said about me back then was true.”

“So… what don’t I know?” She asked.

He appreciated her honesty but wasn’t about to make it easy for her. “Want to play true or false?”

She met the challenge with a smile. “Fine. You did cocaine at a party and then crashed a car.”

“False on two counts.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “What, it wasn’t a party?”

“No.”

“Not cocaine then.”

“Prescription painkillers, I’ve dabbled in other shit, but coke is a little too vintage for me.”

“Right,” Heather said, with the look of someone who’d taken a dive into rough waters without a plan. “But the car thing, everyone knows you totaled a sports car.”

“Nope.”

“What? Then what happened?”

“I got pulled over for speeding.”

“No.”

“Yep.”

“But you got arrested!”

“True.”

“They can’t arrest you for speeding. Your mugshot, all this shit, there’s no way it was because of a speeding ticket.”

“I was going ninety in a forty five.”

“What.”

“I was playing ‘double it, which is when you go double the speed limit, and shout “Double it!” at the top of your lungs.”

“Oh my god,” Heather said. “So you were arrested for speeding?”

He shrugged. “No, I was arrested for punching the cop who pulled me over for speeding.”

“Oh, god.”

“Yeah, that’s why things with me and Holden were tense sometimes.” He shrugged again, carefully trying to make it look like it didn’t matter to him.  “I’m not a big fan of cops.”

“So why’d you join the military. They’re like… cops that leveled up.”

JD snorted. “You have no idea how right you are. My dad wanted me to do get away from the public eye for a bit and do something to win back some public opinion. I wanted to get the fuck away from my dad. It worked out for a whole week before I bailed on all of it and started working at a gym.”  

“Oh.”

He knew she was thinking about the fact that after his arrest and the brief blurbs about his decision to join the army, he had disappeared off the face of the earth until she had wandered into their decrepit office needing help. “Things got bad after that.”

“When did you meet Veronica?”

This was the part he didn’t want to talk about. He liked Heather, liked talking to her and having her around, but poking at those wounds in front of her was further than he could go. It almost amazed him that the drug use, the arrest, the army, even his father, had come easily in conversation, but his relationship with Veronica was the door that wouldn’t open.

“After all that,” He finally said. “She just kind of happened.” He hated understatements. She had appeared in his life like a storm rolling in off the coast, quiet and soft at first, before she turned into a hurricane that changed everything.

Heather was playing with the chess piece again, turning it over in her hands and smoothing her finger over the delicate carving. “That’s lucky; everyone dreams of stuff like that.”

“What?”

She quirked one shoulder without making eye contact. “Oh, you know, the idea that someone will just fall into your life and change it completely.”

JD bristled slightly. “She didn’t change my life, I changed it myself. Veronica just gave me a good reason.”

Veronica hadn’t exactly been a stranger to unhealthy coping mechanisms when he’d first met her, and they still had a few between them, but putting everything they had on the line to build DSI had forced both of them to make some changes. He had gone to meetings, met Shama, and finally gotten his life into some kind of order.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… I mean, I’m not like… Sorry.” She ducked her head, hiding in her hair.

He felt his anger dull and slip away into guilt and pity. Heather didn’t have friends like Shama or Veronica, she had Heather and Heather, who hardly seemed like the type to stay with her through life’s lows. She was rich, and living a life he’d once thought he wanted, but nothing could convince him to trade his shitty hovel with Veronica and the regular, open conversations he had with Shama.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“No, I understand; you worked hard.”

He smiled ruefully. “Yeah. Still have to work, to be honest. It’s every day.”

“That sounds hard.”

“Yeah, well, don’t do drugs, kiddo.”

She rolled her eyes and moved a piece on the board. “Check.”

“Goddamnit.” He searched for a way out of her trap—which was pretty genius—but found only one. He moved his king.

“Checkmate.” Heather smiled, and as irritating as it was to lose, he was glad she got a win; it was nice to see her smile.

“Guys, come here!” Veronica called from the kitchen, and both of them stood in shock. JD nearly took the table down.

“Christ. Coming Ron!” He carefully righted it and then followed Heather into the kitchen.

Heather was shaking slightly, and he put one hand on her back for support.

“Heather just called me.”

“Heather called you?” Heather said, at the same time JD said, “Heather has your number?”

“JD, our numbers are on the website; anyone can have my number.” She took a long breath. “She started calling around and found the name of a photographer who’s sold photos of Heather before; she asked me to check his name.”

“And?” JD said, because Heather didn’t seem able to speak.

“Joshua Ruiz was at the breakout awards, or at least he was on the press list of people allowed in.”

“I’ll call Holden.” He stepped away from Heather and pulled out his phone, while Veronica started to organize the list in front of her.

Holden picked up on the third ring. “What do you want?”

“Wow, okay.” He took a deep breath, “Look, I’m sorry if this is a bad time, but we found something in Heather’s case and—”

“JD, I’m assisting in an investigation, I can’t—”  

“This could be connected to the Courtney thing!” Very quickly, JD explained about the note that they’d found on her door, and what they’d been looking into since then. “So, this could help you. Joshua Ruiz could be involved somehow.”

“That’s not a lot to go on, JD. Half the people in this city have sold photos of celebrities at some point. It could be a coincidence, and it’s a loose link to Courtney at best, who, by the way, probably committed suicide.”

“Yeah, maybe, but what if she didn’t? What if this is a big break in the case?”

“I’ll look into it, and I’ll talk to detective Felix and see what she says, alright?”

It wasn’t much, but it was more than JD could do on his own; if it didn’t work out they would still have to go through with the bait plan, which didn’t sit well with him. “Yeah, thanks Holden. And Holden, I think we should talk about—”

“No, JD, we shouldn’t. It’s not going to work. I’m looking for… something else. Something more. You’re amazing, but I need someone who can be there for me and that’s just not you. Someone who respects my career and my choices. The other day was a wake-up call, and I need to listen to it.”

Biting back the sting of rejection and loneliness, JD nodded. “Thanks. I really hope you find that; you deserve it.”

“Thanks. Same to you.”

Before he put his phone away, JD texted Shama. _Definitely dumped._

_You weren’t really dating him,_ She replied almost immediately. _Possibly part of the reason for the dumping?_

_Possibly. Plus emotional unavailability and my inability to respect his profession._

_Well that one’s fair. Fuck cops._

A minute later, she texted again. _Are you doing okay?_

_Yeah._ He looked up, watching Heather and Veronica talk in the kitchen, feeling quiet, persistent ache somewhere behind his heart. _I’m fine._

* * *

As it turned out, there were a lot of people named Joshua Ruiz on social media, and aside from narrowing the search to LA and surround areas, there wasn’t a good way to determine whether or not they were looking at the right one. All they'd managed to track down was a professional website with what might have been a self-portrait on it. They weren't confident, but it was the best they could do. 

“I hate going in blind,” Veronica said to JD. “There’s too many variables.”

“I hear you, but what are our other options?”

“Don’t go?” She suggested, “Stay here and wait for him to make another move?”

“I can’t keep doing that,” Heather interjected. “Heather is right; I can’t stop my life and my career for this guy.”

“I admire that,” Veronica said, though she realized she didn’t sound all that admiring. “But I think there’s some merit to staying safe.”

“Veronica,” JD said, “Let’s not have this discussion again. Heather made her call.”

She chewed on her lip but held back from saying that they were both being stupid. “Fine.”

“I’m going to do a sweep of the house,” JD said, “If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, come rescue me.”

“Got it. Call me if you need anything.” Veronica watched him go and turned to Heather.

“Please don’t try to talk me out of this,” She said. “I need… I need to do this.”

Veronica looked away from her earnestness. “Okay. I just don’t want anything to happen to you, Heather.”

Heather attempted a smile. “That would be bad for business, wouldn’t it?”

Veronica frowned. Surely Heather knew that wasn’t what this was about. Surely she could tell? “That’s not—”

“Guys?”

She looked away as JD walked in. He was holding a piece of paper. “You got another one.”

“Goddamnit,” Veronica muttered, reaching for the note. Heather didn’t even attempt to look at it. “I can’t wait to meet you,” She read aloud. “Christ, did this guy major in creepiness?”

“It’s like he wants to keep reminding me, like I might forget that he’s out there.” She frowned and walked into to living room so she could sink down onto the couch.

Veronica followed her and made sure the living room curtains were fully shut. She turned back, watching Heather and wishing she had a manual for comforting someone in this situation.

“We’re going to get him. Ruiz doesn’t know we’re onto him.” It wasn’t exactly comforting, but at least she felt like she was doing her job.

Heather’s head was in her hands, her eyes round and far away, staring into the distance. “I hope he’s just messing with me.” Veronica watched and could tell that Heather was thinking of the pictures of Courtney. They haunted Veronica too.

They both jumped when JD turned the radio on. “Sorry,” He said, “It was just too quiet in here.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Heather said, shaking her head a little as if clearing a bad thought. She almost managed to turn the corners of her lips upwards.

Veronica wondered what a full, real smile might look like on her. She was sure she’d never seen Heather truly happy and wished again that they’d met under different circumstance. She glanced at JD, expecting to see the “she’s a client, Veronica” look on his face, but he was watching with something almost like sadness on his face.

The song changed to something cheesy and synth-y and JD laughed. She was about to ask why, when she heard the chorus.

“Fucking, ‘Private Eyes’” Veronica muttered.

The sad look was wiped off of JD’s face so cleanly that Veronica wondered if she’d ever actually seen it. He started singing along, even dancing a little.

Heather refocused, watching him and glancing at Veronica. “Is he… okay?”

Veronica shrugged. “Is he ever?”

“Heather,” JD said eagerly, pausing his sing-along, “Get it? It’s private eyes? Like us! Do you—”

“Yes, Jason, I get it,” She said irritably, despite the smile that was spreading across her face.

Veronica had wondered what it would look like. Of course it was stunning. Of course it was breathtaking.

She was still caught in the moment when JD reached out and dragged Heather to her feet, pulling her into a spastic dance. She laughed, watching Heather flush and stumble, trying to keep up, or maybe escape.

JD kept singing, looking like an idiot as he spun Heather around, swaying her in a rhythm that didn’t really match the song. Veronica stood up, clapping along as she watched them.

Heather relaxed slightly, beginning to fall into step with JD, or at least move less self-consciously. Veronica wondered if that was a first for her.

Veronica was so caught up watching Heather laugh that she didn’t notice when JD executed a surprisingly skillful spin that landed Heather right against her.

Heather’s face was scarlet and inches away from Veronica’s, but Veronica grabbed her on instinct, spinning her once before pulling her close for the final seconds of the song.

They were both breathing hard, so close Veronica could smell her shampoo.  Heather’s face was flushed with embarrassment, but the smile hadn’t faded from her eyes.

_Oh my god,_ Veronica thought, the only coherence she could manage.

Heather stepped away, her laugh strained all of a sudden. “Thanks, that was… it was good to let go for a minute.”

“When we get to this party,” JD said, “Promise you’ll save me a dance.”

“Only if you practice beforehand,” Heather said with the smile Veronica now knew was her ‘acting smile’. She had seen the real thing, which involved a crinkled nose and squinty eyes, and this smooth, practiced expression wasn’t it.

He smiled. “You should think about it too.”

Hours later, Veronica and Heather were watching a movie while JD dozed on the couch. Heather kept glancing at him, and Veronica wondered what she was thinking.

Finally, she said, “That was fun.”  

Veronica smiled. “I love him when he’s like that. He can be so _good_ , you know?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“It always makes me think… It’s like that’s who he could have been, if things weren’t…” She had already said too much so she stopped.

Heather nodded, looking past the TV with an expression Veronica couldn’t name. “Yeah.”  


	11. The Primadonna Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

JD rolled over, cautiously reaching out towards Veronica. It was the first night they’d spent in their office for a few days, but Heather McNamara was staying with Heather so they could get an early start on errands and final preparation for the party, which was the following day.

Veronica hummed quietly. “JD?”

“I’m awake,” He said, smiling when Veronica moved closer to him in bed. “Has Heather seemed weird lately?”

He would have rather saved this conversation for a time when they weren’t cuddling, but they might not have time. “She has seemed a little distant,” He admitted. “But it could be because of the notes and the party. She has a lot to be worried about.”

“But it’s not just that,” Veronica said. “She’s… avoiding us.”

JD had noticed a certain coolness Heather had adopted around them. She hadn’t been carefree or casual since he’d danced with her. “Did something happen?”

“I don’t… I hope not. We need her to trust us.”

“I shouldn’t have danced with her; no one ever touches her she probably hated it.” He resolved to bring it up with her if he got a chance later that day when they were doing the final rounds of preparation for the party tomorrow.  

“It’s not your fault,” Veronica murmured, and he could tell she was drifting in and out of sleep. He wished he could relax. He was gifted at sleeping in uncomfortable locations, but only when he was tired. Veronica had never met a morning she couldn’t sleep through.

She must have been more tired than he realized, because she rolled closer to him, crossing the invisible line that usually defined his bed space and hers. She hummed again, nuzzling into him.

“Uh, Veronica?”

“Mhmm?”

“Um, are you…” he stopped, debating whether or not he wanted to say anything. This was nice, and whatever invisible barriers they’d set up over the years had been softening lately into something casually intimate. He liked that, and he liked having her close; it was easier to sleep with her nearby. 

“Never mind.”

A couple minutes later, she said, “I’m worried about her.”

He nodded. “I know, Ron. We’re doing the best we can.”

“We’re using her as bait.”

He closed his eyes, unwilling to admit that thinking about it made him sick. It was a fucked up thing to do to a person, to put them in danger in the hopes of getting something for it. It was the kind of mercenary, cold thing his father would have done. “I know.”

“What if—”

“It’s going to be fine, Veronica. We’ll keep her safe. We know who Ruiz is; we know what he looks like. We’ll get him.” She knew him well enough to know that he was trying to convince himself too.

She curled closer to him, and he wrapped his arms further around her, tugging the thin, aging blanket around her shoulders. “Right, of course.”

Glancing down, he saw that her eyes were far away, but surprisingly awake as she stared at the cracked plaster wall next to her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Ron.”

“Sorry; I just can’t stop thinking about her.”

That had been obvious for a while, and though JD wasn’t prone to jealousy—god knew it was better when he and Veronica were with other people—it still stung a little bit. Heather was famous and beautiful, refined and elegant. He and Veronica shared a rancid little life that probably made being a part of Heather’s look like heaven.

“She’s a client though,” Veronica said. “We’ll have to cut ties when this is over.”

Very cautiously, JD said, “We don’t really though, do we? Heather’s a client, sure, but she’s—”

“Don’t JD,” Veronica said, her voice low and quiet. He could see her eyes squeezed shut and wondered what she was keeping out. “You know this is how it has to work. You were saying it from the beginning, and you were right.”

She never said that, and normally he might have teased her about it, but she had touched on something important. “Or we could toss out that stupid rulebook too.”

“JD—”

“No, Veronica, don’t. There’s no reason we have to cut ties here. You like Heather, I know you do—”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously? Come on, Veronica, just—”

“No, stop it! Just, don’t.”

“We have to talk about this. We need to at least figure out something that we can both live with. I don’t want to leave her, and I know you don’t either. Veronica, I’m worried about her.”

“You should be,” Veronica snapped, “She has a crazy stalker and she hired the least competent bodyguards in LA!”

“That’s not why I’m worried and you know it, Veronica.” He tried to keep himself calm; arguments between the two of them always escalated and this one already looked bad.

“Right, you’re worried because you think she’s just like—”

Well if Veronica wanted to escalate things, fine. “Do not bring her into this.”

“You already did! You bring her into everything!”

“Wow, Veronica, I’m sorry if my mother’s death had an inconvenient impact on me, but could you leave my trauma out of this so that we can actually talk about the real issue?”

“Oh, the real issue? So the fact that Heather is a talented young actress with no friends and a controlling agent isn’t the real issue?”

He gritted his teeth. “Maybe it’s part of the issue, but—”

“Just admit that it’s your entire fucking issue!”

“Right, the issue is always me, isn’t it?”

Veronica’s lips curled up into a bitter sneer. “Oh, don’t go there!”

“Go where, Veronica? Where is it that I can’t go? Because it seems like conversational boundaries are a thing only you’re allowed to have.”

This wasn’t an argument anymore; it was an avalanche, hurtling downwards towards freezing, painful death at a million miles an hour. They had brought up all the painful topics, and he was almost too pissed to care.

“You know what, Veronica? Fuck it. I’m going to go there. You always pretend that it’s my fault, my issue, my problem, but I give it five minutes before you’re out that door, walking away because that’s what you always do.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He bit the words out, meeting her eyes and knowing they’d both gone across every line they’d ever drawn between them. “You’re going to run away from this conversation just like you ran away from us, and like you’re running away from Heather, who deserves better by the way.” They all deserved better, and it was about damn time she admitted it.  

“Fuck you.”

There was a long, heavy silence, they were both breathing hard, standing on either side of the office with their bed between them, glaring. Finally, he managed to catch his breath and keep his voice low. “Just admit that you like her, V, at least do that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re not better than me.”

“I don’t think I’m better than—”

“Bullshit! With your recovery-talk and acting like you’re better than me because you would never run away from your feelings. Well guess what, JD? Maybe if you knew how to walk away from something, your life wouldn’t be such a pile of shit. I’m going for a run.” The next few minutes were awkward as she stormed around getting dressed and finding her sneakers while he tried to figure out how to patch things up. Finally, she left, closing the door with a snap that rattled the whole building.

His head ached and his palms itched and more than anything he found himself wishing he could be high, just for an hour or two, just enough time to shake off the hollow feeling that hung around when Veronica left.

* * *

Veronica’s feet pounded against the rough pavement, sending shocks up her legs as she pushed further and further away from the office. She hated running in the morning—that was usually JD’s time—but she’d had to get away from that room.

She wanted to refuse to admit that she’d been harsh, that she’d tried to upset him to bring him down to her level, but she knew she had. Just as his little closer had been stinging and accurate, everything she’d said had held the same weight. That was the thing with fighting with the person who knew you best in the world; they both knew how to make it hurt.

She pushed herself faster, feeling her muscles stretch and sting, letting her lungs burn in the hopes that she could outrun the tears that pinched in her eyes. A little further, a little faster, a little more pain and it would be gone.

Finally, her body could take no more and she slowed, leaning against a wall for several heaving breaths. She didn’t feel better, but at least she wasn’t running anymore.

When she’d finally caught her breath enough, she looked around, trying to get her bearings so she could find her way home, or to Alaska if that seemed like a better option; which it did the more she thought about their fight.

It took her a moment to realize that she recognized this neighborhood, this street. Across the street from where she stood was the bakery she’d worked at shortly after getting here. The one owned by two women who had given her food and employment when she was desperate. She hadn’t been back in ages, not since she’d graduated. Not since she and JD had started DSI.

The thought came with a little guilt as she saw Neal and Hanna moving through the large glass windows. They had been kind to her, had supported her, but when they’d gotten too close, she’d bailed.

For a moment, Veronica thought about trying to fix the mistake, about walking into the little bakery and buying a coffee and a pastry and apologizing for her vanishing act, but just like all the others, she knew she would let this one lie.

_I never look back,_ She thought with a twinge of guilt; she didn’t look because she was afraid of the trail of destruction she might see.

Veronica watched them for another moment and glanced up at the sky, as if it would directly give her the message the universe seemed to be trying to tell.

When no ominous signs made themselves known, Veronica turned towards home, picking up an exhausted jog that was barely faster than a walk.

Halfway home, Veronica’s phone went off, displaying a message from Heather that she’d sent to her and JD. _Meet you at 11._ Followed by an address.

Veronica groaned, remembering that Heather had promised a long day of preparing for the party. With the time Heather had given her, she would have barely enough time to get home and shower.

JD was wearing headphones when she got back, which meant that she shouldn’t try to say anything, not that she had been planning to. Maybe lines had been crossed, but they’d both crossed them, and she wasn’t going to apologize first.

She was barely dressed and ready in time to get into a cab with him. Heather’s driver would be able to take them home, so they left the bike at the office and sat in awkward silence on the way to a fancy jewelry store downtown.

When they arrived, they gave Heather’s name and were escorted through the store and to an office in the back, where a tall, sharp-jawed woman was sitting behind a desk, engaged in a rapid conversation with Heather McNamara.

Heather was idly examining a couple of necklaces that had been neatly laid out on a table. Veronia was sure Heather Chandler was around somewhere, likely having stepped out to make some all-important phone call.

Heather smiled when they walked in. “Thanks for coming, the store wanted to speak with my security detail.”

For too long, Veronica didn’t realize she was talking about them, that they were Heather’s security detail.

_Did you think you were her date?_ A voice that sounded a little like JD’s hissed in her head. She pushed it away, though she knew the answer was yes.

“What about?” JD said, while she was caught up mulling all this over.

The woman abandoned her conversation with Heather and gestured to the necklaces laid out on the table. “These are extremely valuable pieces, and Ms. Duke is borrowing them for the evening. It’s important that they are kept safe.”

“Our job is to keep Heather safe,” JD said, emphasizing her name just slightly. “So long as your jewelry stays on her, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The woman’s lips pinched tightly together. “Of course. We were curious that Heather had a full time security detail, however. Is there some danger we ought to be aware of?” The odd, trailing way she left the sentence suggested a number of accusations, though it was so delicate Veronica almost admired her form. It was information-fishing at its finest.

“The danger is not to Ms. Duke’s jewelry,” Veronica assured her tensely, clipping her tone.

“Any danger to Ms. Duke is a danger to her jewelry as well, I presume?”

Veronica could hear JD’s teeth grinding next to her, so she let him reply. In the event that something happens to Ms. Duke, we promise to make sure her necklace is intact as well.”

Heather flinched a little, though whether it was due to the quiet fury in JD’s voice or because of the strange, flippant way they were having this conversation, Veronica couldn’t tell.

The saleslady pursed her lips but wisely didn’t respond to his comment. “For your request we have a few options for necklaces we could loan you. This is Helia, she’s been in the vault for four years since our assistant designer created her.”

Veronica stared, nearly blinded by what must have been hundreds of diamonds, each catching the light and scattering it across the small office.

“She has eleven strands of stones in various lower weights, linked by additional, larger diamonds.”

“It’s stunning,” Heather McNamara said reverently, reaching out and nearly brushing her long, tapered fingers over it, before she pulled back. “Can she try it on?”

The saleswoman nodded, and Heather dutifully stood and allowed the woman to fasten the necklace around her neck.

In her simple tank top and jeans, the necklace bordered on absurd, gleaming so brightly that it was difficult to look right at Heather. It was like a piece of armor around her neck and much of her chest.

“How do you feel?” Veronica asked her as Heather shifted under what must have been a massive weight.

Heather shrugged, upsetting the dozens of rainbows that danced around on the office walls. “It’s very…”

“It will be perfect with the dress,” Heather McNamara interrupted, pulling a sketch out of an enormous leather handbag. She had drawn a rough approximation of Heather in smooth, long lines, wearing the flouncy pale green dress that Veronica had seen the other day. Around her neck was a thick, flashy necklace.

On the sketch, it looked nice, with the drawn model’s impossibly long neck, it didn’t look out of place. But Veronica had seen Heather in that dress, and she knew that she transformed the designer’s intention, softening the lines and smoothing it down into something natural and elegant, rather than the high concept, avante garde look it was attempting.

Essentially, it was obvious to Veronica that the massive, flashy necklace no longer suited the aesthetic. No one else seemed to have gotten the same impression, however.

“The other option is Soleil, which has a slightly more traditional look.” The saleswoman held up another, equally large and bright necklace, which consisted of thin chains of diamonds that spread out from a massive center stone, like dew caught on a spider’s web. Like the first, it was beautiful, but it easily overwhelmed Heather’s narrow neck.

“God, that one’s gorgeous too,” Heather McNamara said, murmuring something admiring in Spanish under her breath. “What do you think, Heather?”

Heather Chandler had just stepped into the room and was looking at the necklace with a critical head tilt. “It’s nice. Heather?”

Heather touched the enormous diamond that rested just below the hollow of her throat. “It’s very heavy.”

That brought out a scoff that set Veronica’s teeth on edge as Heather rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s heavy, it’s a diamond the size of Dr. Gowan’s left testicle.” 

Veronica had no idea who Dr. Gowan was, but the reference made both other Heathers snort, though Veronica thought Heather’s was just a beat too late.

“Anyway,” Heather Chandler continued. “The other one is nice as well, and I’m a bit torn.”

Heather looked up cautiously, “Veronica, what do you think?”

All eyes turned to her, and Veronica instinctively glanced back at JD. His jaw was set and his eyes wouldn’t meet hers. Still pissed, then. She was on her own.

“I…” She looked at Heather’s wide, hopeful eyes, barely noticeable over the opulent gleam of the necklace. “I think they’re both wrong.”

Heather McNamara stepped away like Veronica had slapped her. “¿Estás jugando?” She glared at the others. “She’s joking, right?”

Heather Chandler blinked in surprise, and she narrowed her eyes, somehow perfectly conveying her _Who do you think you are?_ without any words at all. 

Veronica cleared her throat. “Heather is…” A million words flitted through her head— delicate, soft, fragile, graceful, exquisite— but none quite captured the porcelain covered steel attitude that was what she wanted to describe.

JD coughed, and she realized her pause as she fought for words had gone on almost awkwardly long. He lifted one sarcastic brow, because even mad at her, she knew he couldn’t risk laughing at this.

“Small,” She finished lamely. “Heather is small, and both of those overwhelm her. No one would be looking at her face.”

“This party is for Strike the Sun,” JD added. “And Heather is the star. It’s practically for her, so she should be what stands out.”

“And she doesn’t need a bunch of diamonds to do that,” Veronica finished.

JD gave her a look that clearly meant _Wow, the bisexual really jumped out there,_ but he didn’t openly mock her for it. In a better mood, he might have laughed, or they could have shared a moment of solidarity, but his smug _I told you so_  expression pissed her off and she looked away.

There was a long pause until finally Heather McNamara said, “Okay, but what about some diamonds?”

Rolling her eyes and dismissing the whole affair, Heather Chandler picked up her phone and stepped out of the room again.

“Some diamonds are good, I think,” Heather said. “But smaller.”

The saleslady’s smile had become carved onto her face. “Alright then. I’ll return to the vault and see what I can find.” Her eyes slipped over Veronica. “Something… delicate.”

When she was gone, Veronica turned to Heather. “Sorry, I should have—”

“No,” Heather said quickly, “I asked your opinion, and you gave it. I think you’re right anyway.”

Heather McNamara tossed her hair and flicked one thin wrist. “Well, broken clocks and all that.” She muttered something under her breath that might have been Spanish and was almost certainly insulting.

Veronica and Heather shared a smile that made Veronica’s heart skip a beat, and she nearly reached out and squeezed her hand before thinking better of it. JD’s smug look haunted her and she lowered her eyes.

Behind her, she could feel his eyes on her back, watching their interaction, and she turned away from both him and Heather, not sure what to think or feel about any of it.

Before anything got too weird or awkward, the saleslady returned holding a black velvet box. “You didn’t say anything about color, but many of our pieces are checked out right now, so this was one of very few options.” She held it carefully directly under one of the office lights and opened the box to display its contents.

The diamonds on this one were smaller, and only on one chain, formed with jagged edges like broken glass towards a ruby which would rest perfectly in the dip in Heather’s throat.

“The center stone is a ten carat emerald cut ruby.” There was a faint hint of pride in the woman’s voice as she described it, lovingly recounting every detail of size and clarity.

Gingerly, Heather reached out to touch it and nodded. “It’s perfect.”

“But the red—” Heather McNamara started, but Heather shook her head.

“It’s perfect.”

“Lo que sea, if you want to look like Christmas. I guess we’ll take that one.”

Heather smiled as the saleslady returned it to the box and started discussing the details of tomorrow’s delivery. It was nice to be able to slip back into the background, which is where she really should have been for the entirety of the appointment.

Heather Chandler returned to conduct them to the car, where Heather’s driver was waiting for them. There was a compressed energy about her she guided them into the car, which had been upgraded to a short limousine because of their larger than normal group.

The luxury chafed at Veronica, who wasn’t used to it and hated feeling underdressed and unsophisticated. Heather, Heather, and Heather, of course looked perfectly at ease in this car, and even JD didn’t seem to share her discomfort.

“So, Heather,” Heather McNamara said, “How did the call go?”

“Yeah, Heather, how did it go?” Heather piped in.

There was a pause, purely for drama as Heather Chandler took a breath. “Curtis Murphy wants you for his next film.”

“Oh my god,” Heather whispered, color rising into her cheeks. “Seriously?”

“Yes! He’s all over you, and his people were falling all over themselves trying to get me to make promises, but I’m playing them just to see what they might offer. We are finally getting into the big leagues, Heather!”

“I can’t believe this,” Heather said. “Don’t keep them waiting too long; I’m sure their offer is already incredible—”

“Offers can always be better, Heather; we’ve talked about this.”

“Don’t do it,” JD said, breaking his long silence.

Everyone turned to him, and Heather Chandler gave him a look like he was a plastic bag full of dogshit that someone had inexplicably carried into the car. “What?”

He didn’t take his eyes off Heather, ignoring her agent completely. “Don’t do it, Heather. Don’t take the job.”

Heather hesitated, watching him. “I—”

“You can’t be serious,” Heather Chandler interrupted. “What the fuck does he know? This is a huge step for you! Curtis Murphy’s films make billions in the box office. He knows everyone on the Oscar circuit. Don’t you want an Oscar, Heather?”

His eyes shifted, uncomfortable with all the sudden attention. “I’ve heard things about him, Heather. He’s not… it’s not a good idea.”

“I—” Her eyes fell on Veronica, begging for interference or guidance, Veronica wasn’t sure.

She looked between JD and Heather, both of them pleading with her silently, until she finally said, “JD has been in and around the industry his whole life. He knows things. If he says don’t do it, don’t do it.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Heather Chandler turned her fury onto JD. “This is a huge opportunity for her! You’re not her agent; you’re her fucking bodyguard. Just shut up and do your job.”

“It’s their job to keep me safe,” Heather said simply, cutting through her friend’s anger. “I have to take his advice when it comes to my safety.”

“Heather,” Heather Chandler said slowly, and Veronica watched her face and voice transform into something softer. “We have been your friends for years. Over a decade! You can trust me.”

“He’s a rapist,” JD said abruptly and then looked nauseous when they all turned to look at him. “I mean, I think. That’s the rumor. If there’s proof somewhere, I’m not the one who has it, but that was always the story.”

Heather Chandler opened her mouth to respond, then immediately closed it again.

“Heather,” JD said seriously, “My dad wouldn’t let my mom work with him. Not for anything. I just… I hope you know what that means.”

Heather nodded slowly. “I’m not taking it, Heather.”

After a long, tense moment where the agent swallowed, her eyes flicking around as if she was already making new plans, Heather nodded. “Fine. I’ll tell them to let me know if they replace him.”

Despite their fight, despite the fact that she was still mad at him, Veronica glanced at JD and started to reach towards him. She knew how much it took for him to mention his parents’ relationship.

He wouldn’t look at her. As soon as she was even vaguely looking in his direction, he fixed his gaze outside the window and wouldn’t look back. When gave up trying to catch his eyes, Veronica looked away to find Heather watching them closely.

They all rode the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

No one ever sleeps on the eve of a battle.

That had always been a thing in the fantasy books Heather had enjoyed when she was younger, and still sometimes indulged in. She hadn’t thought she would ever know what it felt like, but as she stared at her bedroom ceiling, she felt like she was living in one of those stories.

She had been rolling over on her bed, fighting the urge to check the time on her phone or get up for the millionth time to drink water or just stare at her hollow green eyes in the mirror.

Finally, she gave up and pulled on a sweater from her old high school, burrowing into the warm fabric as she went downstairs to make herself a cup of tea.

She didn’t notice the light at first, but by the time she’d reached the bottom of the stairs, she could clearly see the blue glow coming from her office. For a moment, she thought she’d left the TV on, but she hadn’t turned it on all day. Carefully, fearfully, she crept into the room, but paused when she reached the door.

JD was outlined in the faint light, while a very familiar scene was playing on the TV. She started to back away, afraid of intruding on what was obviously a very private moment, but she accidentally hit her elbow on the doorframe, making enough noise that he jumped up and looked over.

“Oh, it’s you,” He said, and she couldn’t tell if the jerk of his hand across his face was moving his hair or wiping away a tear. “Sorry, I—”

“I couldn’t sleep either,” Heather said. “I was going to make some tea.” The silence was awkward. Everything was awkward, and she wished she could have just stayed in bed.

“Tea sounds nice,” JD said, a faint hint in his voice.

It took Heather a moment to catch up. “Oh! Yes, I’ll go make us some.” She glanced back at the screen. “Um, would you mind pausing it? My favorite part is coming up.”

A small, sad smile curled onto his face and he nodded. “Okay.”

She returned a couple minutes later with two mugs of herbal tea and a bag of microwave popcorn that Heather and Heather didn’t know she kept in her house. “Are you sure you don’t mind if I join you? I understand if—”

“It’s fine, Heather, really.” Carefully, she sat next to him and handed him his mug.

He took a small sip and then reached for the remote.

They watched in silence for several long minutes, past Heather’s favorite line and towards the happy ending.

“I used to watch her movies all the time,” JD said suddenly, his eyes still fixed on his mother moving across the screen.

“Oh?” Heather said cautiously; she had been dying to hear more about his mother, but she was very obviously an off-limits topic.

“She… Back then it was the only time I ever saw her smile.”

Heather’s heart lurched in her chest. Alice had always been a symbol of great romanticism to Heather, of beauty and tragedy and the aching fragility of life. To hear that she was just a woman, a sad, lost woman, was equal parts disappointing and comforting. Heather herself had often thought she would never live up to Alice’s legacy, and here she was, sitting with her son and hearing that there wasn’t much legacy at all.

“That was why I wanted to act,” He told her. “She told me it was good to get to be other people, because most people only ever got to be themselves. I didn’t realize until much, much later that I shouldn’t not want to be myself.”

“Oh.” Heather looked away and saw her Strike script sitting on top of her desk, marked up with her copious notes on all the various ways she might fully leave herself behind in exchange for this more interesting woman.

“She did it, you know,” He said, answering a question that had haunted her for a long time. “I know everyone still speculates— talking to tabloids and true-crimers about it is the one thing I won’t do for money—but there’s no big coverup. She killed herself.”

“I’m sorry,” Heather said, and she hoped he knew that she really meant it. “I wondered if—”

“My dad?” He nodded. “Yeah, I blame him, but technically, legally, it wasn’t his fault.”

Heather shuddered, thinking of the serious-faced man she’d seen in the background of so many pictures of her hero. For someone who was so frequently involved in the lives of the rich and famous, he was rarely photographed, which made him seem even more elusive and dangerous.

“He controlled her whole life, Heather,” JD said, and he finally turned to look at her, meeting her eyes directly and holding his gaze steady. “Every decision. What she ate, what she wore, who she spoke to, the roles she took. Everything. She made two choices the entire time she knew him: Having me and killing herself.”

She flinched at the blunt way he phrased it, but Heather supposed there wasn’t a way to sugarcoat what had happened to her.

JD kept going before she had to say anything. “I just want you to be careful, Heath.”

She glanced up, meeting his slightly too intense stare and realizing that he wasn’t talking about his mother anymore. “Oh. You mean Heather and Heather, that’s not— They aren’t—It’s not the same.”

“Heather—”

“Really, I understand why you’d think so, but I promise it’s nothing like that. Heather and Heather have been with me through everything.”

At his skeptical look, Heather kept going. “When my dad died… I thought my life was falling apart. It was the middle of the night and the headmaster and the school nurse got me out of bed and told me I had to go to the hospital. Heather kicked up this big fit and forced them to let her come. God, I wouldn’t have made it through that night if it weren’t for them.”

It had been a very, very long time since the last occasion that had called for Heather telling this story, but she found that the words came easily. “And then it was funeral arrangements and we had no other family so it was just me and Heather stepped up. That was the first event she planned for me, and I’ll never be able to repay her. I was allowed to drift around in a fog for days while they protected me.”

“That’s great, Heather,” JD said, though she detected an unsaid ‘but’ in his tone.

“I know how it looks to most people, but Heather and Heather love me and they’re there for me.”

“Then why are they so mean to you?” He asked, and Heather paused. It had been a very long time since she’d bothered to lable their behavior as mean. That was usually just how they were. Both Heather and Heather were tough love types; that was how they were raised.

“Well,” Heather said, “Sometimes it’s funny, and it’s not just me; we’re all mean to each other.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment, and she frowned. “What? You and Veronica are never mean to each other?”

JD flinched and looked away and Heather searched through her words, wondering what she’d said. Then it occurred to her that she’d barely heard him speak to Veronica, and that Veronica hadn’t spoken to him all day. She had come to his defense earlier, but had not addressed her words to him.

“Is… Are you and Veronica okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” His words came too fast to be the truth. After a pause he sighed and admitted, “We just fought a little bit.”

“Oh.” Heather hated the little hopeful bubble that had built up in her chest. Maybe if he and Veronica were fighting…

She stepped hard on the though, cutting it off before it could fully form into something dangerous and forbidden. “I’m sorry,” She said lamely after too much time had passed.

“It’s okay,” He said and it sounded like a reflex. “This happens with us a lot; we spend too much time together.”

“Oh, yeah.” Heather couldn’t imagine there was a way to spend too much time with someone you loved, but she didn’t say that. She took a sip of her tea to avoid having to say something else.

“Stuff like this, it always comes and goes with me and Veronica. We’ll get through it.”

“So this happens a lot?” Heather couldn’t resist asking.

He laughed a little. “Not a lot, but yeah, sometimes. We’re just… we’re very different and for a lot of reasons, we never should have met, but we did. Sometimes all that shit comes out and it gets ugly.”

“Yeah, I guess I understand that,” Heather said, although she and Heather and Heather were all sides of one strange, three-sided coin.

He nodded and sighed. “That’s why we broke up.”

Heather choked on her tea.

JD laughed and looked sideways at her. “What? You didn’t realize we were exes?”

“No, I um…” Did this mean that they weren’t together? That when Veronica had said she loved him—

“Yeah, we were together for a while. First time we hooked up I thought it was a one night stand, but then we started talking and that’s basically how we got DSI started. Once we were thinking about the business it stopped, but then when we finally got the office? Well, we were celebrating and then it was just an understood fact that we were together.”

JD sipped on his tea as he reminisced and Heather tried not to show that she was aching. She didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to witness the love all over his face, didn’t want to see their obvious bond so clearly.

“It all blew up; you know how thing go. We kept our shit together for DSI, but we both realized how dumb it was to put the business at risk for that, so we just gave up on it. We’ve seen other people but… I don’t know.”

“What?” Heather asked, dread in her heart and a slow roiling feeling turning her stomach.

“Sometimes I wonder if I can’t make it work with her— never mind, Jesus sorry to just dump all this on you.” He forced a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck, turning back to the screen to watch his mother race through the climax of the film, running dramatically in the rain.

“It’s fine,” Heather said softly.

“You’re easy to talk to, I guess.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry about you and Veronica,” She said, very carefully reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He smiled and moved just a little closer to her on the couch. “Me too, Heath.”

She shifted so that their shoulders were just barely touching, enjoying the warmth, and turned back to watch the rest of the movie.

“You should try to sleep,” He said as the credits started to roll. “Tomorrow is—”

She nodded. “I know.” She paused. “Want to start another?”

JD nodded as she queued up another of her favorites.


	12. The Rise and Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you're finished reading this and considering whether you'll leave a comment or just close the tab, please keep in mind how much work it takes to write nearly 5,000 words in a week. Enjoy!

Even Veronica was up with the sun on the morning of the party. She wasn’t happy about it, but she was up. She shuffled into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee, surprised to find that JD and Heather weren’t there yet. Once she’d had the required amount of caffeine for functioning, she wandered out of the kitchen to look for them.

She found them moments later, asleep against each other on Heather’s couch.

Veronica was not sure how to read the situation and a wriggle of discomfort wedged in her stomach, not quite jealousy but something similarly gross and sticky. She could believe she’d misread Heather, but JD was a surprise. After his impassioned plea for her to recognize feelings she wasn’t sure of, it was hard to believe he’d let Heather fall asleep in his arms like this, but it was possible he was projecting.

 _What a mess._ She turned to go, but Heather stirred and sat up before she could.

Heather’s hair was a mess, and her face seemed drawn and even paler than usual, her eyes were—as always—enormous, and just slightly startled. “Veronica?”

“Morning, Heather,” Veronica said, trying not to be too conspicuous as she stared between Heather and JD. It was easy to put on a mask of indifference, but her curiosity was so strong it was almost impossible to hide.

Heather seemed almost as surprised by her company as Veronica felt, and she quickly scooted away from JD. “Good morning. We were, um, last night—”

Veronica just shrugged lightly, “You don’t have to explain anything.” She turned away before Heather could see the heat in her cheeks or the tension in her jaw.

It was stupid. It was dumb. She stepped down hard on her feelings as she walked—rather than stomped like she wanted to—back into the kitchen.

Ruiz’s picture was sitting on the counter, printed messily onto computer paper, leaving the already unclear picture looking like an impressionist painting.

Guilt twisted in her stomach when she looked at the sharp reminder of why she even knew Heather in the first place. So what if Heather and JD had apparently fallen asleep together? That meant nothing, because JD was wrong about repressed feelings and everything else. She thought Heather was beautiful, but of course she did. Heather was an actress, hardly a job held by unattractive people, and Heather was definitely charming, but that was only natural as well.

And there was the fact that protecting Heather was Veronica’s job. That was just the kind of situation that led to little, inconsequential crushes. It meant nothing.

JD and Heather followed her into the room, both looking soft and rumpled with sleep as they poured cups of coffee in silence. There was something to be said, probably a lot of somethings considering what would happen tonight, but no one made any attempt to say it.

When she’d woken up in the morning, when she’d been assuming that Heather spent the night in her room and JD on the living room couch, Veronica had had some idea of how the conversation should go; now she didn’t have a clue and wasn’t even sure she wanted to speak. She wondered if JD had the same feelings, but couldn’t ask him and her usual ability to read him seemed fogged over as she thought about the things they’d said to each other.

Her thoughts were violently cut off as Heather McNamara barged into the room, breaking through the wall of awkwardness like Jack Torrance with an axe. “Alright everybody! Look alive because we have a lot of work to do and not very many hours to do it in. Who’s ready?”

Heather groaned. “She used to be a cheerleader, can you tell?” She whispered to Veronica.

Veronica laughed, happy to feel some of the discomfort lift, even if the mental image of Heather’s head on JD’s shoulder made her stomach twist up a little. There was something wrong about it, something off balance that made Veronica ache.

Heather McNamara pursed her lips at them. Despite how early it was, she was perfectly made-up, her white hair gleaming around flawless skin that had been painted over to erase already invisible imperfections. “It’s going to take work to make the two of you look like you belong, and that’s on top of all it takes to get Heather looking like a star. I’ve got my work cut out for me, and I expect all of you to be helpful.”

No one leapt up to pledge assistance, but neither JD nor Veronica told Heather where she could shove her motivational speech, so they went on.

First it was the itinerary. Heather Chandler had planned every moment of the day with sniper-like precision, leaving no second unblocked. She would eventually arrive, and all four of them—Veronica was unhappy to find herself lumped in with them— would spend the day in Heather’s house, getting waxed and polished and painted and styled until they looked like what Heather was calling “the best versions of themselves”. JD was expected to participate in very little of it, though Veronica was sure there would be some fussing over his hair or his suit at some point. She knew from experience that his hair in particular could be difficult, and a small, petty part of her was looking forward to watching that conversation between him and Heather.

For now, though, it was almost possible to imagine that this was a day of luxury and fun, as professionals arrived to give massages and paint nails, all while Heather Chandler drilled Heather about all the people she would be meeting and all the questions she would be asked.

It all seemed unnecessarily difficult and complicated. Surely it wasn’t so horrible to have to be introduced to someone? But according to Heather, it was rude not to know someone, as it was an industry where you should have heard of anyone worth hearing about.

“If I say I don’t know someone, they’ll assume it’s an act and that I think I’m more important than them,” Heather explained.

JD nodded from his seat in the corner, where he was reading, and Veronica rolled her eyes. “It’s not the eighteenth century; I don’t see why all this shit is necessary.”

Heather Chandler pursed her lips. “Yes, it’s very evident that you don’t think manners are necessary.”

JD snorted and Veronica glared at him, finding it easy to remember her anger when he was being annoying.

“It’s a whole social system,” Heather explained kindly. “Like a hierarchy, except no one is entirely certain who’s on which level, so everyone vies for space at the top.”

To Veronica, it sounded both dull and arcane, but it seemed rude to say this to Heather, who was working hard to be able to follow the rules.

Heather Chandler held up another picture. “And who is this?”

“Avoid him, he’s a washout,” JD said from the corner.

“Excuse me?” She replied, her eyes narrowing.

“He’s a washout. He lost most of his clout a decade ago, and now he’s living off his wife’s money while she bankrolls every film that’s come out of Italy in the last five years. If he approaches you, it’s going to be a scheme, and Heather wants no part of that.”

She turned pointedly away from him to level her glare at Heather. “If I have to tell him to stay in his lane one more time—”

“It’s fine, Heather. Thank you for the advice, JD; I’ll keep it in mind.”

This did not seem to satisfy either party, but Veronica was glad that Heather hadn’t smacked JD, which she’d suspected she was considering. It probably wasn’t intentional, but JD seemed to be rubbing his old Hollywood background in Heather’s face, and the agent wasn’t enjoying it.

When their nails were finally done and dried, it was time to reveal the outfits Heather McNamara had lovingly procured for each of them. It reminded Veronica a little bit of prom in the old days, when she had gone over to Betty Finn’s house and they’d watched romantic comedies while doing each other’s hair and makeup, until it was time to put their dresses on and greet their dates.

Veronica remembered little of the rest of that night, but she felt an odd stab of nostalgia as she thought about Betty Finn, who would be shocked if she could see Veronica now.

Shaking those thoughts away, Veronica took the garment bag Heather McNamara was offering her, and hesitantly pulled the zipper down. Whatever she’d been expecting, this was not it.

Instead of the plain cocktail dress Veronica had been expecting, a two-piece set with a cropped, fitted black top and a long, filmy, black skirt hung up in front of her. Perhaps she wouldn’t have chosen it for herself, but she couldn’t deny wanting to wear it.

“This is… different.”

“You don’t like it?” Heather McNamara’s face flickered, almost frowning before it reset into a carefully neutral expression.

“No, I do, but I thought the point was for us not to stand out.”

Heather shrugged. “I don’t do background dresses.”

Heather smiled a little, her hands wrapped a little too tight around the hanger of her pale green dress. “I think it’ll look nice.”

Veronica swallowed hard. “Thanks.”

The glare had returned, and Heather Chandler stepped between them. “I think we should all go get changed and we can reconvene for final touch-ups and to make sure Heather has everything _straight_.”

Heather’s flinch was barely perceptible, but Veronica felt an almost instinctive urge to step forward to put an arm around her or somehow shield her from Heather Chandler’s razor-blade glare.

Clenching her jaw, she quashed the instinct and walked out of the room to get dressed, aware of JD’s steps behind her.

* * *

JD hadn’t worn a suit since he’d made the announcement that he was joining the army, unless he was counting the uniform he’d had for only a handful of days before tossing it into the ocean. His new life didn’t have room or money for formal affairs, and that was perfectly fine with him. He was grateful that Heather had not pushed for anything more formal than what he was putting on right now. Dark gray pants and jacket, white shirt, no tie because he’d outright refused to so much as think about wearing one. Thankfully for that argument, Veronica had sided with him citing how dangerous a tie would be if a fight broke out.

He glanced over at Veronica, who was strapping a knife to her thigh, just above where the slit in her skirt stopped. Very carefully, he tested the waters. “I know we’re mad at each other, but that’s pretty hot.”

Her face twitched, not quite a smile but something close. “We are mad at each other, but you look pretty good too.” As soon as she’d said it, she went back to being all business. “Are you armed?”

He nodded. He’d considered bringing the gun, but the party would be crowded, and he didn’t trust his ability to shoot that much. Instead he’d brought a knife and a stun gun, both of which were easily concealed and easily reached in his pockets.

“Are you okay?” He asked her, letting some of his anger melt because he didn’t want to die mad at her if something went wrong tonight.

She nodded, her face revealing nothing, even to his experienced eyes. “Yeah. I wish we had more to go on, but there’s nothing else we can do.”

“We’ll keep her safe,” He said, wishing he sounded a little more confident than he did.

“We have to,” She replied, and he sensed that she was no more confident than he was.

“Hey, V?” She turned to look at him, something hopeful visible in her eyes for a moment before the solid wall of defense mechanisms slammed back over them. “You really do look amazing.”

She smiled, just barely. “Thanks. Never thought I’d see you like this.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Almost.”

He laughed, wishing they were on good enough terms that he could reach over and kiss her like he wanted to, but knowing that their reconciliation was glass-thin, and it hinged on both success tonight and a very long conversation another day.

He fussed with his hair in the mirror, trying to get it to lay right and failing.

“Need help?” Veronica offered carefully.

He nodded and held perfectly still while she fiddled with the strands in the front until they were doing something that looked almost intentional. He had never managed to make his hair look decent, but Veronica never failed to.

Heather was the last one ready, which only made sense; she was the star, after all. The rest of them orbited her like moons around a planet, offering her what little light they had to give. She hardly needed it. For all her apprehension, she was glowing.

Her hair and the very pale dress she wore caught the low light in the car as they drove, making her look like an otherworldly being. Veronica was the opposite, hovering next to Heather like she was made of shadow. JD wished he knew where he fit between them.

Heather McNamara and Heather Chandler were both twitchier than normal. For McNamara, this made her almost manic as she twisted and turned, fretting with details on everyone’s outfits and fiddling with the bracelets she wore when she ran out of other things to do. Heather Chandler was—for once—not as cool as stone. Her hands trembled almost imperceptibly, and her jaw was tight, two details that she would have absolutely controlled if she’d been able to. Her endless lectures and lessons had stopped at last, and she sat in silence for the whole ride.

Cars and cameramen crowded around the front of the house when they stopped, and it was strangely familiar to JD, as though all these years hadn’t happened, and he had never walked away from the life that had been destroying him.

A heavy pit settled in his stomach, and he glanced at Veronica. The evidence of their fight lingered as she didn’t look back at him, didn’t offer the silent support he knew he would have gotten most other days.

He and Veronica exited the car first, keeping their heads down and helping Heather, Heather, and Heather out of the car. Heather took the lead, and cameras flashed as she started to walk, the others fanning out around her like the dutiful entourage they were.

It started slowly, and he certainly didn’t hear the first person whisper his name, but soon the crowd was buzzing with it as the camera flashes grew brighter, now aimed at him, rather than Heather.

“He’s back,” Someone whispered in wonder, as though he’d risen from the grave, others were less friendly, but JD tuned them out, scanning the crowd as best he could without making eye-contact with anyone.

The buzz passed and people went back to photographing and shouting at Heather, who was responding more than he had, smiling for everyone she passed and giving casual, friendly answers to questions tossed her way.

“I don’t see him,” Veronica whispered, her lips barely moving as they continued the walk up to the house.

“Neither do I,” JD replied, though it was entirely possible that they had both looked at him and hadn’t realized it. Their blurry picture was hardly better than nothing in this crowd. “He said he was going to meet Heather, so…”

“So we just wait until he comes up to her, and hope we know it’s him.” Unlike the other three girls in their party, Veronica didn’t smile. Her lips—painted over with a thin sheen of red gloss—were pressed together grimly.

“We’ll know,” He said, aiming for confidence but it fell flat and made him sound like a tool.

Without acknowledging it, Veronica followed Heather the rest of the way to the house, which was packed full of people but blissfully free of insistent cameras.

A couple broke away from a small pack of people to greet them, the woman moving towards Heather with open arms. “Heather! I’m delighted to finally meet you in person. I was so upset that I couldn’t make it to your screentest.”

“Oh, Marsha, hi, yes it’s wonderful to meet you.” There was an awkward pause before Heather gestured to everyone behind her. “This is Heather, my agent, and Heather, my stylist. Behind them are my… bodyguards.”

JD and Veronica nodded, and JD ducked his head, wishing he could fade into the background. A strange expression creased Marsha’s face as she studied JD, and he knew he’d been recognized, but she didn’t say anything.

Instead, she gestured to the person beside her. “And this is my wife, Lex They’re going to be joining us in Canada and working on sound design.”

Heather’s eyes darted between the pair with energetic interest, something hopeful there that brought a slightly unwilling smile to JD’s lips. “It’s nice to meet you.” Her voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the music and other party sounds.

“You too, Heather,” Lex replied, their smile warm. “Marsha has been talking about you nonstop; I’m so happy that we got you for Strike.”

“Oh, wow, I’m honored, really,” Heather said. “It’s such a privilege to get to work with Marsha and you.”

Lex laughed and shook their head. “Careful what you say; it’ll go straight to her ego.”

“A thousand beautiful young women could give me a thousand compliments and my ego would still never be half as big as some of the directors and producers with resumes half my size,” Marsha insisted.

“Oh, hush,” Lex rolled their eyes. “You all go enjoy the party, she won’t be done with this rant for another hour.”

They smiled and finished the pleasantries before walking away from their hosts. At the last second, Marsha grabbed JD’s arm. “I have to assume you’re not here as an actor.”

“I’m not an actor,” JD answered, meaning every word. “I’m Heather’s bodyguard.”

Marsha didn’t ask what made Heather feel the need to bring two bodyguards to a private party, which was a relief because JD wouldn’t have known what to tell her. “But you are Jason Dean, correct? Your father is—”

“Yes. We don’t speak.” His words were short, chopped off at the end to make sure that she didn’t continue this line of questioning.

“Ah. Good. I don’t want him anywhere near Heather.”

The thought that at some point it was nearly inevitable that Heather meet his father hadn’t occurred to him, but in this moment it made him physically sick. Perhaps they would get lucky tonight and catch Ruiz, but the further Heather rose the more danger there would be. It would always be easy to justify his and Veronica’s place in her life.

He glanced over and saw Heather’s eyes trace from the hem of Veronica’s long, filmy black skirt up, past her exposed midriff and the tight black bodice, slowly taking in the uncharacteristically revealing outfit.

Perhaps they wouldn’t need excuses to stay in Heather’s life.

He stepped into the room, moving confidently in the hopes that no one would get between him and the small knot of women he was trying to reach. Almost immediately, people descended on them to hug and make nice. Someone pulled Heather McNamara away so they could talk, and he saw Heather Chandler catch someone’s eye in the crowd, and she vanished only a moment later.

Veronica stood behind Heather, a shadow in her light as people approached her in a receiving line of supplicants who were trying to get on her good side before she became too famous to be accessible. JD was moments from working through the crowd to stand behind her when a voice called his name.

“Jason?”

 _Fuck._ He couldn’t immediately place the voice, but using his given name was a clear way of showing that this was someone he’d intentionally cut contact with. He turned around, fixing a tense smile on his face. “Hey.”

It took a long moment of searching through hazy, drug-addled memories to find the guy’s name. “Joel. Hey.”

“Man, it is so good to see you. I can’t believe you’re finally hitting the scene again! What the fuck is up?”

JD recoiled slightly. “I’m not hitting the scene again, I’m here—”

Joel interrupted before he could find an explanation for why he was here that wouldn’t involve Heather. “Are you sure? I just found this doctor and man he will hook you up with whatever shit you need. I can give you his name—”

“No!” JD said, too fast and too loud, but his heart was pounding and his hands were sweating. Joel definitely had something on him. The two of them went way back; if JD asked, Joel would share his supply. It would be so easy…

He swallowed hard and dug his fingernails into his palms. “I meant, no, thanks. I’m not doing that anymore.”

“C’mon, you’re trying to tell me that you went straight?”

It was sometimes a shock to remember that he hadn’t been out in the old days, that he’d been friends with and done drugs with people who didn’t know even the most obvious of basic facts about his life. With Veronica, he’d have made a joke about the dumb phrase, but Joel wouldn’t find it funny. “Yeah, kind of. I’m just not into it anymore.”

“Really? Well that sucks. Anyway, I have to go. There’s this other thing happening at some guy’s loft; it’ll be wild, but it was good seeing you again. Have a good one, Jason.”

JD let out a sigh of relief as soon as Joel was gone, feeling the muscles in his jaw start to unwind as he finally made it to where he wanted to be, Veronica’s familiar presence anchoring him.

She looked away from Heather, who was happily smiling at dozens of adoring people, and seemingly basking in the attention. “What’s wrong?” Veronica’s eyes darted up and down his face, reading him as easily as always.

“Nothing, I just… ran into an old friend.”

“Someone you used to party with?” She asked.

“Yeah.” He hesitated, sure this wasn’t the time to get into it, but also knowing that he could hardly step away to call Shama. “He hasn’t changed.”

“You have,” Veronica pointed out mildly as she grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. She handed one to him as she took a sip. “You walked away,” She reminded him.

“Right.”

“Did he offer you drugs?” She asked, digging deeper than he’d wanted her to.

“Yes.”

“Did you take them?” The mask of disinterest fell away; Veronica’s eyes were locked on his now, and the pounding intensity of the party faded to a dull hum as he met her stare.

“No.”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” She told him. “But I’m proud of you, because I know you weren’t sure.”

“Thanks, V.”

“Of course.”

“So are we still mad at each other?”

“I’m still mad,” She said, though there was nothing in her tone to support it. “Are you?”

“Yes,” He admitted.

“Truce for tonight?” She asked.

He nodded. “Yes, please.” Everything she’d said to him had hurt or pissed him off or both, but he’d missed her.

Together, they stepped forward to get behind Heather’s back, flanking her to make sure she never felt alone. People were beginning to press a little too close around her, and she glanced back at them.

JD stepped forward, trying to make himself look bigger and wider to push the crowd back. Veronica moved to stand next to Heather ,warding people off with a glare.

“Jason?”

Joel’s voice came back, surprising JD. “I thought you’d left,” He said, not relaxing his stance.

Flippantly, Joel shrugged. “I’m going to, had to say hello to tonight’s VIP though.” He glanced around JD. “You must be Heather.”

Heather stuck her chin up and out, mustering a glare of her own, which didn’t quite manage to be as tough as Veronica’s. “Yes.”

“Joel Mitchell. It’s nice to finally meet you. Hey, I was about to head out, but I could stick around a little longer if you wanted to dance?”

JD couldn’t help but snort, seeing that his former friend’s obliviousness hadn’t changed at all. There were few people on earth JD thought would be less interested in Joel’s so-called charms than Heather.

Joel glared at him. “You used to be decent a wingman.”

“I used to be a drug addict, Joel; shit changes.”

Now it was Veronica’s turn to snort, turning Joel’s attention to her. “And who the hell are you? His girlfriend?”

JD saw Veronica’s jaw flex before she replied. “I’m his partner.”

The phrase was cleverly vague enough that Joel would almost certainly interpret it as being romantic, while not necessarily lying. They were business partners, after all.

With Joel distracted, Heather took a step back until she was mostly shielded behind JD.

There was a long moment before he did exactly what JD expected he would; he scoffed and turned away with a practiced careless shrug. “Whatever, this party blows anyway.”

When he was gone, JD rolled his eyes. “How did he even get in here? I thought it was just the cast and crew?”

Heather laughed. “Parties are never really closed in Hollywood, besides if this goes well it creates buzz for the movie.” She sighed and looked away. “I need to take a break; I’m going to find a bathroom.”

Veronica looked ready to offer to go with her, but Heather had already dived into and been swallowed by the crowd, and they would both have to hope she came back to them soon.

* * *

Heather locked the bathroom door and went to the mirror to massage aching cheeks. Most of her smiles had been genuine, but that didn’t mean that sustaining them didn’t hurt. Under her hands, her face looked sweaty and pale which layers of makeup couldn’t quite hide. She thought about texting Heather and begging for a touch-up but she doubted even she would be checking her phone at a time like this.

No, the most she would do is add something to her story and then put the phone aside, maybe making a note to respond to texts later. Heather was on her own, sick in a bathroom and not sure if she wanted to leave. She loved the attention out there, loved that everyone who approached her thought she was a star, but doubt chewed on her intestines, twisting her up. Was she really a star? Or were they all falling for the character Heather and Heather had so meticulously crafted for her?

And none of this acknowledged that someone at this party was here for far darker purposes than getting drunk and making an ass of himself. Someone here had been following her for a long time.

_I can’t wait to meet you._

That made her stomach twist again, and she sank to her knees in front of the toilet, ready to release the glass of champagne that was churning and trying to fight its way back up. Had she already met him?

She had met so many people tonight. It had been a parade of new faces since she’d stepped in, from the intense to the innocuous. JD’s friend had gotten too close, but surely he wasn’t the one? He’d paid more attention to JD than Heather, though of course he’d managed to share.

Unable to wrestle with these thoughts and with her rioting organs, Heather leaned over and threw up what little she had in her stomach, carefully making sure her hair and dress remained untouched.

When she stood, she wiped her mouth delicately and looked in the mirror, where she saw a flawless fraud. She was beautiful. She was a star.

Who she was didn’t matter.

After reapplying lipstick and rinsing out her mouth, Heather opened the door and squared her shoulders, ready to face the party again.

It didn’t take long for the adoring masses to find her again, but she was rescued almost immediately. Heather Chandler was a force of nature, and even people who didn’t know who she was didn’t dare to get in her way. “Heather!” She glanced at the door behind Heather and probably read her guilty expression. “Figures.”

“I wanted you to meet some of my staff. They were both so helpful in getting you the Strike role, and they’ve been great dealing with all the PR shit lately, so be sure to say thank you.”

A girl and a guy, both about Heather’s age stepped forward from behind her and introduced themselves as Owen and Sam. Heather didn’t manage to get clarification on what exactly they did for Heather, but she thanked them nonetheless.

“I know how much time Heather spends working directly with me,” She said, “So I’m really glad she has staff she can—”

“Heather!”

She turned towards the voice and saw Veronica, eyes wide and staring in her direction, working to push through the crowd.

Leaden ice filled Heather’s stomach and she turned around, seeing someone getting far too close to her in the crowd. She might not have recognized him based on their blurry picture, she was looking in his eyes, and she saw the single-minded determination of someone who had been hunting a long time, and that was unmistakable.


	13. When I'm Afraid, When the World's Gone Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... I'm sorry. Enjoy!

JD was elbowing his way through the crowd, deaf to the noise as he chased after the man who was pursuing Heather. Veronica had noticed him first and everything had happened immediately after that.

Ruiz was rushing after Heather who had backed away directly into a wall. The guy she’d been speaking to appeared too confused to move, and Ruiz plowed right into him, knocking him to the ground.

Veronica wasn’t beside him. JD had a vague awareness that she should be there, but she wasn’t. He’d either left her behind, swallowed in the crowd, or she’d decided on a different tactic. He wished—for the millionth time since they’d fought—that they hadn’t, if only so that they would still have that instinctive, wordless communication that would have helped in this situation

He pushed forward, confused people attempting to help or to stop him as he tried to reach Heather. The loud music and low, thrumming bass lending a surreal quality to the moment.

Finally, he reached Heather, who was cornered against the wall while Ruiz took dozens of pictures, the flash blinding Heather, who was cowering and crying.

JD reached out and locked a hand around the guy’s arm. He was throwing a punch before he’d thought about it, before he had time to remember how badly it hurt to punch someone in the face. In the moment it took him to nurse his hand, Ruiz was retaliating.

He took the blows, giving Heather a chance to slip away into the waiting arms of her agent and stylist who held her against them, forming a shield from prying eyes and from whatever threat Ruiz posed.

The crowd started to push closer, surrounding the fight. He wondered if they knew what was going on, or if they thought Jason Dean was back up to his old tricks, barely two hours after making his reappearance.

Finally, he had an opening and hit Ruiz in the stomach. The other man staggered back, and just when JD thought he should brace himself for another hit, Ruiz turned and bolted, shoving past people who were shouting and pushing to see the chaos better.

Ruiz ducked through, but when JD tried to pursue him he was met with a wall of hands and shouting voices, people grabbing him, stopping him, asking him why he was doing it. Phones clicked and questions were hurled; it was horrible, like living in one of the nightmares that would have sent him running into the warm embrace of prescription painkillers not long ago.

Now he didn’t have time to indulge the part of his brain that wished he was still a drug addict. His sole focus was Heather behind him and Ruiz in front of him. Inches forward were purchased painfully with shoving and scratching until he’d mostly broken out of the crowd, where he caught sight of Ruiz fighting Veronica.

For a moment, JD blacked out, crossing the room and nearly bulldozing through a glass door in an attempt to get to them.

Ruiz had a grip on Veronica’s hair and was nearly throwing her away from him while JD fumbled desperately with the door trying to get to them.

Veronica wasn’t the type to lose her head in a fight, nor was she the type to fight fair if it meant the difference between winning and losing. She twisted in a way that had to be excruciating and managed to plant her hands on Ruiz’s shoulders, pushing down hard while she brought her knee up into his groin. He lost his grip on her hair and any leverage he might have had went with it. Veronica had the upper hand and she kicked out into his stomach, leaving him flat on the ground and gasping while she caught her breath.

Ruiz rolled over, and JD could see him trying to claw his way away, Veronica shoved her skirt out of the way and pulled the knife out of her pocket. She pressed it into Ruiz’s back, a less than subtle warning, even if JD knew she wouldn’t actually stab him.

He managed to get the door open at last and rushed out to help her, though she hardly needed it anymore. Ruiz’s efforts to escape had stopped almost completely.

“Listen—” He started to hiss as Veronica stood up, taking her place next to him and shifting her grip on the knife.

“Stop talking,” She said sharply. “It’s over.”

When he realized that neither Veronica nor JD was about to hear him out, Ruiz made one last, desperate bid for escape. He reached out, gripping Veronica’s wrist and twisting until the knife fell out of her hand.

Faster than he would have thought, JD got the stun gun out of his pocket, driving it into Ruiz’s side until he had fallen to the ground.

JD could see Heather’s pale, worried face in the window, and he saw her study Ruiz as if searching her memory for him. JD barely had time to nod reassuringly at her before she turned away to hide in Heather McNamara’s shoulder.

Heather Chandler stood protectively on her other side while party guests, security, and stray photographers who’d gotten in attempted to ask her questions or otherwise hassle her. No one tried to push past Chandler though, and her steely glare was enough to silence all the but the most persistent people.

When the cops swarmed in, JD had barely a moment to recognize a very familiar head of blond hair before he was being pushed away from Ruiz and separated from Veronica. He stepped away gratefully led somewhere moderately quieter where he was instructed to wait for his interview.

Several minutes passed before someone came for him, and enough pain had set in that it took JD a long moment to recognize the cop.  

“Holden? Is this even your jurisdiction?” He asked, feeling a little dumb and fuzzy, for which he hoped he could blame the head injury, which was still bleeding.

“Not really,” Holden answered. “This doesn’t seem like your type of party. Also, you need to hand that over.” He took the stun gun out of JD’s hand before he could argue.

“Heather’s a client,” JD answered, jerking his head towards her, though the action made his various injuries throb.

Holden snorted. “From what I hear, you’re going to have to be more specific. The guys have taken statements from four Heathers so far.”

“I only know three of them, and I only work for one.”

“So, you were here working?”

“Is this an interview, Hold?” JD put a hand to his head and looked around, wishing he had some backup for this.

“No, not really.”

“Can anything I say be held against me?” He asked.

“JD…”

“Holden, are you interviewing me?”

“We need to know what happened here! Plenty of people are saying you went apeshit on that guy for no reason.”

JD rolled his eyes. “Plenty of people don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. We’ve been helping Heather for weeks, and the guy finally made his move. We caught him, I’m a hero, you can send the medal to my office.”

“Very funny.”

“Mr. Dean?”

JD tensed for a moment, instinctively looked up for the door through which his father was sure to emerge, before he realized that the detective was talking to him. “Your associate was able to clear some things up for us. Thank you for cooperating.” His expression was tense as he looked between JD and Holden.

“It’s always a pleasure to cooperate with LA’s finest,” JD said, plastering on the smile he’d used back in his celebrity days, the one that made sure that everyone knew he wasn’t taking anything seriously.

Throwing one last glance at Holden, he did a sarcastic little solute, tossed his jacket over his shoulder, and went to rejoin Heather, Heather, and Heather.

* * *

 

Heather was dazed, confused, and tired, but the questions didn’t stop—or even pause—for her to catch her breath. Heather had been holding them at bay for as long as she could, but in a matter of minutes, they’d had details and they were on the hunt for more. Everyone wanted to be the one to find the most scandalous scrap.

So far, the buzz seemed centered around “Jason Dean, bad boy turned good” who had valiantly gone to her rescue when faced with a dangerous stalker. Never mind that Veronica had been just as involved in the fight and capture, and she had been just as much Heather’s date as JD was. He was a face they recognized, his was a salacious story they were eager to be able to rehash, and the idea of rehab and redemption was just too good to pass up on. Compared to that, Veronica was a nobody.

That thought irked Heather, but Veronica seemed perfectly at ease fading into the background, not that she really did that for Heather, who felt itchy with awareness whenever she was around. Her mind kept drifting to that narrow strip of pale skin where the top of Veronica’s outfit didn’t meet the bottom, and to the way her face had looked after the fight, faintly bruised, smeared with red lip gloss and just a little bit of blood, her hair wild. She looked like she had stepped out of a romance novel.

She felt foolishly intimated to talk to her, like somehow the fight had transformed her into a creature from another world that would disappear if she looked directly at her. Heather tried to shake all these strange thoughts away, reaching for a glass of champagne from a server who was gamely continuing her shift as though the party hadn’t become a media circus. Heather was grateful to her, because even one glass of champagne was enough to blur her thoughts into something a little more normal.

Veronica was just a person, and all this strangeness going on didn’t mean that Heather couldn’t talk to her. Ignoring Heather’s cool glare, she stepped away from the protective barricade her friends had formed so she could stand next to Veronica. “JD’s ex looks like cop ken.”

She smiled, wincing just a little when it pulled at her split lip. “We used to say he looked like Fred from scooby doo.”

“That too. Do you think JD’s okay?”

“He can take care of himself.” Veronica’s voice cooled considerably, her face clouding over so that Heather could no longer read her expression.

She swallowed hard. “I… Um, thank you, for what you did, by the way.”

“It’s my job, Heather.”

She felt her smile—usually so practiced and perfect—falter. “I know, but… thank you.” She wished that she could convey that she wasn’t just thanking Veronica for doing her job. She was grateful that Veronica had been the one to do it.

“You’re welcome.”

“What do you think will happen to Ruiz?”

“That sort of depends on you, and on whatever evidence they can get from him. So far there’s not a ton linking him to the threats you’ve been receiving, but the police haven’t been to his house yet. We’ll know more in a few days.”

“Days?” Heather’s heart rate picked up, and her breath started sticking in her throat. “What do you mean days?”

Veronica frowned. “There’s a ton of red tape. Nothing happens quickly when it needs to go through a police precinct.”

“Isn’t there a way to speed it up? I mean—”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to grease some palms,” Heather said, stepping in smoothly, her smile cool and her curls perfect and un-deflated despite the strain of the evening. Heather had always wondered how she did that. “I’m sure your bodyguard would know better than most people that the LAPD aren’t above bribery.”

Veronica bristled, while Heather frowned, not sure how to respond to Heather’s remarks, and not sure why she was making them. “I don’t think… this isn’t like what happened with JD.”

“Of course not,” She laughed, angling her body perfectly to cut Veronica out of the conversation. Heather remembered that trick from school, how Heather could make you feel worthless just by rotating her shoulders a few degrees. “But you don’t need to worry about any of that anyway. That’s for our lawyers to deal with; my dad is recommending some real stars for us. You should only be worried about packing and making sure you’re ready for Strike!”

Marsha, apparently overhearing the conversation, joined them, further isolating Veronica, which only frustrated Heather more. She had wanted to have a conversation with just the two of them, but of course she could never be allowed a moment to herself.

Marsha smiled sympathetically. “Your stylist was just filling me in on everything that’s been going on. In light of recent events, no one would be surprised or offended if you wanted to delay filming, Heather.”

“Absolutely not,” Heather said, speaking right over Heather, who had also been about to protest.

Glaring at her agent, Heather took control of the conversation. “Thank you, Marsha, but no. Getting away from LA for a while will be good for me, and really it will feel nice to be someone else.” She shifted into the smile that Heather said made her look like a real celebrity.

It didn’t seem to blind Marsha, but she nodded. “Well, whatever you think is best, but do keep me posted. There are more important things than sticking to schedules.”

Heather nodded. “Of course, thank you Marsha.” But secretly, she didn’t agree at all. In Hollywood, schedules were above God. Films had to be released on time and being the actress whose personal drama had prevented that was the kiss of death to careers far more successful than Heather’s was.

“Heather, I think the press are going to need a statement, have you and Megan worked anything out?” Heather’s head was starting to hurt and she wanted her agent to be doing anything other than standing at her shoulder with those tireless, critical eyes.  

“Megan and Sam are working on it right now, while Owen is handling the photographers and people who are already here, trying to contain and damage control. I have been here protecting you the whole time.”

“I think I can handle protecting her,” Veronica said, stepping around Heather’s shoulder. “If you have so many important things to do. Give my best to Megan; I haven’t seen her yet tonight.”

Apparently unaffected by Veronica’s little power play, Heather squared her shoulders, made wider by the dramatic sleeves on her wine-red dress, and faced her. “She wasn’t supposed to be here, but I had to call her in on her night off because of all this drama. She’s good at all this reporting stuff.”

“She majored in journalism at Yale,” Veronica reminded Heather, who didn’t seem to care about this fun fact.

“Good for her. Like you said, I have a lot to deal with. Try to do your job for just a few more hours.”

Heather let out a sigh of relief as soon as Heather was far enough away. “Thank god she’s gone.”

Veronica nodded mildly.

“She can really be a lot to handle.” Heather thought she was babbling, or at least making very stilted conversation, but she couldn’t seem to stop, even though Veronica wasn’t giving her anything to work with.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that.”

“Well, you know friends: can’t live with them; can’t live without them.”

Veronica just shrugged. “I guess I just don’t have a lot of friends.”

Heather studied her face closely, realizing that aside from Heather’s assistant Megan and JD, Veronica had never mentioned any friends. Heather had assumed that her aloof cool girl thing was an act, just like every façade that every person at this party was wearing. It had never occurred to her to think that Veronica was genuinely lonely, or really as isolated as she pretended to be.

It seemed impossible, with how inseparable she and JD were, but as Heather watched Veronica watch him, she wondered if maybe there was a wider distance there then she’d realized.

“What happens now?” she asked Veronica.

Veronica’s head twitched a little, like she was clearing her head. “What?”

“Now that you caught him; what happens now?”

“Oh.” Veronica paused and shrugged. “We’ll he’s being arrested. There will probably be a trial or something, or maybe you can settle with him outside of court, but it’s probably over.”

It was a relief to think she wouldn’t have to watch her back wherever she went, and that she might be able to sleep through the night without getting up to make sure that the curtains were really closed, but something about Veronica saying ‘It’s over’ made Heather’s intestines twist.

“Right, yeah, I guess it is,” She said slowly.

Perhaps she was reading too much into very little information, but it seemed like Veronica was deliberately refusing to make eye contact with her. “And you’ll be gone soon, right?”

“Yeah, filming starts in a little over a week.” She searched through her mess of feelings for some excitement, but couldn’t find any after everything the night had put her through.

Veronica’s hand just barely brushed against Heather’s as they stood next to each other, watching everyone milling around, watching them. “You’re going to be amazing, Heather.”

Heather nodded, her full attention on that tiny point of contact. She should say something. Anything. Just so that it wouldn’t be over.

“Excuse me, Heather,” Veronica said abruptly, pulling away and severing their silken connection. Without a word of explanation, Veronica walked away to join the police and JD, leaving Heather on her own.

Of course it didn’t last. Without Veronica there, the crowd encroached toward Heather like moths to a lightbulb, flitting around and getting close, but not close enough to feel the heat.

Only Heather broke through, in the vibrant, oblivious way she approached everything. “Heather! God, this party took a hell of a turn. It’s kind of a drag, so some of the girls were talking about heading to Pearl for an afterparty. Thoughts?”

“Heather, I think the police still need me here.”

“For what? They caught the guy and it’s not like you did anything wrong. Come on, Marika is dying to hang out with you.”

Heather very much doubted that any of Heather’s ever-revolving group of influencer friends actually wanted to hang out with her. “It’s been kind of a long night, Heather.”

“No it hasn’t! It’s barely eleven, we’ve got hours before it’s okay to be tired.” She grabbed Heather’s arm and tugged on it playfully. “Come on, you haven’t been out in ages!”

That was probably true—Heather had been understandably cautious during the past few weeks—but even knowing that Ruiz was in custody and she was free, Heather didn’t feel inclined to surround herself with people.

“Not tonight, Heather, but rain check for me with the girls, will you?”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Fine, will do. Just promise you won’t spend all night reading your script again; your brain is going to fall out.”

“I won’t.” After the night she’d had, the only thing she really wanted to do was make a cup of tea and curl up in bed, but there were still so many people to answer to.

She’d made statements to three different cops, had shown them the photos of the notes she didn’t realize Heather had taken, had discussed in detail every step she’d taken since realizing she even had a stalker. After all that, she was simply too exhausted to have any reaction to all of it. Perhaps that was for the best; she would have time to decide how she wanted to react.

“Ms. Duke?” That was JD’s cop, Holden. He looked almost embarrassed, and she wondered what fresh hell of questions he was bringing with him.

“Yes?”

“I had a couple more questions. These are more… off the record, if you don’t mind.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a habit that reminded her of JD, and she vaguely wondered who had picked it up from whom.

“Go ahead.”

His eyes darted around before returning to hers. “So far no one has mentioned Courtney Hunt.”

“Courtney?”

“Yes, she died recently? I believe you knew her.”

“Yes, of course I did, not very well though. What about her?” _Get to the point!_ She screamed internally, barely controlling the urge to tap her foot.

Holden took a deep breath. “JD had mentioned that you had reason to believe that your stalker, allegedly Mr. Ruiz, was involved in her death. Do you believe that?”

Heather chewed her lip. “I’m not sure. I… There was a note, one of the notes, I mean, that suggested that he killed Courtney in order to help me.”

“Do you think that he did?”

“Do you?” Heather raised one eyebrow, challenging him.

He sighed again. “I don’t know. I wanted to hear your take on all of it.”

“He left a photo taped to my door that showed Courtney dead and told me to thank him. I know the crime scene photos were leaked to the press so maybe he just used one of those to freak me out or because he’s obsessed with me or because he’s crazy. I don’t know.”

“I hate this town,” Holden said, gripping his head in his hands. “Thanks for talking with me, Heather. I’ll let you know if I have any more questions.”

“Do the other cops think he killed Courtney?”

“They think Courtney killed herself.” He shrugged. “Everyone thinks that.”

Heather nodded, wishing her head didn’t hurt so bad so she could focus on this conversation, and the lingering feeling that something wasn’t right.

“Heather?” JD stepped forward, looking past Holden as if he wasn’t there. “They cleared you to go. I hope you don’t mind that I called Ori to come get you.”

She shook her head. “Thank you.”

Holden nodded to her once and then seemed to fade away, back into the swarm of police.

“What was that about?” He asked as soon as his ex was gone.

Heather shrugged. “I’m not sure, just a few questions, I guess.”

“Are you doing okay?”

She nodded, leaning a little closer so she could rest her aching head on his shoulder. “Just tired. It’s all so much, you know?”

“I know.”

“I should go home, get some sleep. It’ll be better tomorrow. I know I’ll have tons to do; Heather is damage controlling and spinning and tomorrow I’ll need to get in on it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll have a lot to do.”

The way he said it made it sound like a goodbye. For a second, Heather wondered why he was acting like he wouldn’t be there, until she remembered. The conditions under which she’d hired him had changed. She didn’t need bodyguards or private investigators anymore.

“I’ll be sure to mention you and Veronica,” She said quickly, “So that everyone knows how much you helped me.”

“Thanks, that’ll really help us.”

“And I owe you the other half of your pay! And a bonus, I think, since you both got hurt for me.”

“They’re just scrapes, Heather.”

He was barely responding, and she felt trapped in a scene where she had forgotten her lines, but no one was calling cut and he wasn’t giving her any hints on what to say. “Well… thank you.”

He nodded. “I’ll walk you to your car.” He put his arm around her, leading her through crowds that parted as he got close, until they were at the front door.

Marsha was waiting there, directing staff and saying goodbye to the guests exiting her house en masse. “Heather! Thank you for coming, and I hope you got to meet some people before everything went mad. I can’t wait to see you on set.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Marsha, and thank you again for giving me this amazing opportunity.”

Marsha nodded, and Heather waved quickly at Lex before she made her exit. She noticed the echoing whispers of party guests as she and JD passed, but didn’t strain to hear what they were saying. It didn’t matter what rumors were spreading.

He let go of her when they reached the door of her car. “Good luck, Heather. Don’t forget to call us if you need anything.”

She nodded, though it hadn’t occurred to her that she might forget; calling them had become a habit for her. “Goodnight, JD.” She refused to say goodbye, even though he seemed to be waiting for one.

Finally, she shut the car door and told Ori to take her home.

The car stopped abruptly what felt like only minutes later. It had given Heather plenty of time to relive the confusion, the fear, the tension, and the horror of standing frozen while Veronica wrestled with Ruiz.

She shook her head, trying to clear the images, wishing she could forget the way Veronica’s head had snapped back when Ruiz had hit her, or how he’d looked as he was trying to run.

“Miss Heather,” Ori said in his low, calm voice. “Would you like me to walk you inside?”

Heather didn’t think Ori had ever seen the inside of her house. He always dropped her off and drove away. That he would step over the unspoken barrier, that he knew that she wanted him to, meant a lot. “Yes, please.”

They walked in silence, but his steady presence kept her calm, and something about the way he smelled reminded her a little of her father.

When they reached the door, Heather tried to find a smile. “I was going to make tea, would you like some?”

“Thank you, Miss Heather, but I have to go home. Will you be alright?”

She nodded, holding the smile with all her might. “Of course, thank you, Ori.”

Inside, her house felt echoing and enormous. She turned on the kettle and selected her tea—a relaxation blend she’d gotten from a specialty store in the city—and tried so hard not to think.

The tea barely had time to settle in her stomach before she was running to the bathroom, overwhelmed by the images, by the horror, the pressure, the anger, the pain, the fear.

  _Get it out!_ She wanted to scream. _Get it out of me!_ She retched, but the only thing that came up was her tea and the few bites of food she’d managed at the party, and her roiling, churning emotions stayed exactly where they were.

When she had thrown up all she had, she stood on shaking legs, drank water, brushed her teeth, and walked into her bedroom. Her stomach ached and her heart hurt and her eyes were heavy, but she didn’t lay down to rest.

Instead, she organized, laying all the little things she would need on set into neat piles, which she put into suitcases based on category.

Her thoughts fell apart, she could barely catch her breath, tears were falling. Her clothes were in neat rows, her suitcases stacked by the door, her toiletries were in their proper bags in sizes she could take on a airplane.

It was over now, she told herself. It was time to start over.

* * *

Two days after the party, Veronica got a call.

There was no reason for her heart to start pounding when she saw the name on the caller ID. There was no reason for her to need a deep breath before she answered it. There was no reason for her to fumble the phone in shaking hands.

“Heather! How are you?”

“Hi, Veronica.” Heather sounded exactly like she always did, her voice lilting up just a little, as though she wasn’t sure of what she was saying. “I’m… I’m good.”

“Really?” Veronica had been expecting a call somewhere in the back of her mind and though she was nervous and shaking, she wasn’t surprised.

“Well… No. Sorry to bother you, honestly it’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Veronica didn’t believe Heather. She didn’t believe the choppy laugh or the awkward pauses.

The pause went on even longer until Heather finally sighed. “No. I know he’s gone. I know I’m safe, but I keep looking over my shoulder. Last night I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking I left the door unlocked. I went down and checked it four times. I still haven’t opened the curtains because every time I try to, I’m scared I’ll see his face. I don’t… He’s gone but I don’t feel better.”

Veronica nodded. “Feeling better will come in time, Heather, I promise. Getting away might help you. Ruiz is locked up, and you’ll be in Canada; there’s no way he could hurt you there. You’ll really be safe.”

“So I just have to get through tonight?”

She started to pace the office, hearing a hint of something in Heather’s voice, a hopefulness that was pleading, like she wanted something she couldn’t ask for, but was praying Veronica would know anyway.

She had two options: Tell Heather that she would be fine after tomorrow, that she could call again then if things weren’t better or she could stop running, stop hanging up the phone, stop leaving as soon as she got scared.

The JD that lived in her head was raising his eyebrows, asking a question or making a challenge. _You’re going to run away_ , He had said, and while she would never admit he was right to his face, it wasn’t a totally false statement; Veronica had a history of bailing when things got complicated, when she couldn’t handle them.

 _But what if I didn’t?_ She thought at the JD in her head, _What then?_

_Then you’ll have to deal with it._

_Helpful._

God, she needed to be more careful about giving him the cold shoulder. Not speaking to him for days was apparently driving her crazy if she was creating conversations with him in her head.

“Veronica?”

An awkward amount of time had passed while she thought. “Oh, sorry Heather, there was… I was dealing with something.”

“Oh, I should let you go then—”

“No, wait!” The words were out. Now she had to say something. Now she had to stop running. “How about I come over? One last night of personal security before you go. On the house, of course.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m offering, Heather,” Veronica said. “I want to.” And as scary as it was, she did want to.

“Thanks, Veronica.”

She left a note on the desk for JD, letting him know where she’d gone and that he shouldn’t wait up, just in case. He probably wouldn’t care—she didn’t care whether he cared or not—but it was polite to at least let him know.

Two hours later, she was settled on Heather’s couch, her shoulder just barely grazing Heather’s whenever one of them laughed at the movie they were watching. It was some dumb action movie, not intentionally a comedy, but funny nonetheless. Brainless, easy fun that made Veronica miss JD, just a little; he would have loved it.

The movie scrolled past them and Veronica basked in the glow of the screen as she somehow ended up closer to Heather, until they were touching, leaning into each other as the protagonists drove off into the sunset and the credits began to roll.

“I wonder what that would be like,” Heather said musingly, making no move to turn the tv off or put another movie on.

“Hm?” Veronica said, her thoughts had pulled her away from what was happening in the fictional world in front of them.

“To just drop everything and drive away, start over somewhere completely new. Sometimes it seems like a good idea, you know?”

Veronica shrugged. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Heather shifted away on the couch so she was facing Veronica. “What, you’ve tried it?”

“I…” She had a choice now, and JD in her head was urging her to take it, to open up.

 _Stop running._ He pleaded, _If not with me then with her._

“Yeah,” She finally said, “I did one time.”

She expected Heather to ask, but she sat in silence, waiting.

“The night after I graduated high school, I stared out my bedroom window and it was like I saw my whole life in front of me. I knew exactly what would happen and who I would be and I hated her. So I stole my parents’ car and I ran.”

“Just like that?” Heather asked, her eyes round and shining in the faint light.

Veronica shrugged. “Just like that.”

“What about your parents? Your friends? What did they think?”

“I guess they thought I was crazy, but I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Didn’t they—”

“I haven’t spoken to any of them since then.” This was a fact that she’d never had to admit aloud before. JD had never asked, he had always just known that she didn’t talk to them, and he didn’t talk to people from his past either.

Heather looked horrified enough that Veronica did let the long dormant guilt, which had perished from her indifference, resurface. “But… they must be worried. I mean, you just ran away.”

“I know. I… that was so much easier than dealing with who I was becoming though.”

“But…”

“I know.”

“You just ran away though,” Heather repeated, as though the concept hadn’t fully sunk in. There was no judgement in her eyes, just a deep sadness, like she was wallowing in the grief Veronica had never faced.

She nodded. “I’m tired of running, Heather.” She leaned a little closer, her heart pounding in her ears. This wasn’t the time. It was a bad idea. Heather was fragile.

But it was the only way to know for sure.

Slowly, she pressed her lips against Heather’s, carefully cupping the back of her neck and sinking even closer. She had thought about this for so long, had wanted it and fought it, but she finally had it.

Heather jerked back, her mouth open in shock. “Veronica—”

“Oh. I’m… I’m sorry, I guess I thought—”

“I think you should go.”

“Heather, wait, just… Look, I’m sorry, I guess I misread, but I thought—”

“Veronica, I think you should go.” Her voice was thin, weak, but she pointed at the door with a shaking hand.

Grabbing her sweatshirt, Veronica fled, considering a pause at the door, but one look at the horror on Heather’s face was enough to send her reeling into the night as she fumbled to get a ride with her phone.

She stumbled back into the office after an agonizing car ride where the driver had attempted, over and over again, to make conversation that she couldn’t answer around the lump in her throat. Her eyes flew around the space until they landed on him, sitting on their pullout couch.

JD looked up from his book. “Hey, you’re—”

She tried to move closer but hit the metal bedframe and fell forward onto it. He caught her clumsily. “Veronica?”

“I tried,” She whispered, the awful moment playing in her mind again and again with no sign of stopping. “I wanted to… I wanted to stop running.”

She wasn’t crying. Veronica never cried. But when JD’s arms came around her, a couple of very small tears might have fallen. When he held her and let their fight die without discussion or apology, she coughed around sobs.

When he didn’t let go all night, even when she couldn’t speak to explain anymore, she let herself be held. And when the moment came, she kissed him.

He didn’t push her away.


	14. You're My Superstar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My birthday is on Thursday so you're legally obligated to comment. Enjoy!

As much as he hated to admit it, JD was a California kid all the way through, which meant that the biting air as he stepped onto the tarmac felt like being slapped in the face. He yanked his coat tighter around himself, making a mental note to tell Veronica that it was—despite her regular assertions to the contrary—a very practical coat.

JD shouldered his bag and crossed the hundred or so yards through the frigid Canadian air and into the airport, which was only slightly warmer. Skipping baggage claim, he was about to make his way towards the exit where he could hopefully get a cab, before a man stopped him.

“Mr. Dean?”

He approached cautiously, too aware of his recent publicity. “Yes?”

“Ms. Duke sent me; I’m here to take you to set.”

“She didn’t mention sending a driver.”

“She wasn’t sure until this morning that one would be available, sir.”

“Don’t call me that,” JD said distractedly as he fumbled to switch his phone on. He had messages from Veronica, updating him on a recent case and pointedly not asking about his trip, and one from Heather to expect a driver when he landed.

“Right, sorry, have to be cautious.”

“Of course, sir.”

JD groaned a little internally but gamely lifted his bag back onto his shoulder to walk to the car. When he slid inside the non-descript town car, he saw the marks of Heather’s influence all over it; he doubted that the disinterested driver would have thought to stock it with snacks and water. There was also a note left on the seat next to his.

_Sorry I couldn’t be there to pick you up, but I’m sure you know how shooting can be. I’ll see you on set!_

He didn’t want to pry into the note to try to decipher its meaning, didn’t want to look for something in it that might be his own imagination, but there was something stilted and practiced about it, and he couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t addressed to him, or to anyone, as though she had been hoping he wasn’t the only one who would see it.  

The drive was longer than he’d been expecting, but he still spent the whole time wondering if Heather expected Veronica to be with him, and how he would explain that she had refused to come.

When the time came and Heather had run up to him, her hair blowing in the coastal wind as the dozens of people working on set cleared out of the way for them, he hugged her and tried to put it off.

It didn’t last long, mostly because he didn’t think he could bear any attempt of hers to be casual when she asked about Veronica.

“Veronica sends her best,” JD lied, “She would have loved to come, but we’ve had so much business lately that we couldn’t both leave town.”

“Right,” Heather said, clearly not believing him but slapping a thousand-watt, Hollywood smile on anyway. “I’m glad she’s doing well, I mean, you’re doing well. Both of you. The business!”

“Yeah.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re doing well.” Ever since their so-called daring rescue of a Hollywood darling—which Heather now was—they had been highly sought after.

“Good,” Heather’s smile was stretched taught and unnatural. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah.”

The wind whipped between them, mocking their silence.

“Do you want to look around set?” Heather offered, too brightly, and JD leapt at the opportunity with far more enthusiasm than he felt.

“Yes! For sure, it’s been ages since I’ve been on one of these things.” It had been years, but he only barely remembered those films, having been a little too strung out to remember much of what had happened.

“Yeah, this is a really good one too. We’ve been on location up and down the coast here,” Heather said, “But we like to think this is home base, since it’s my character’s hometown.”

“It’s beautiful,” JD said truthfully, looking around the set that had been built up in a little town near a massive cliff, overlooking the ocean.

“Some of these are real shops, but we had to build over others,” Heather said, sounding like a tour guide. “The people who live here have been so cool about all of it, honestly I’m surprised but there’s just no one Marsha can’t win over.”

“That’s nice,” JD said, watching Heather’s face light up when she mentioned her director. He let himself be serious for just a moment, slowing Heather down. “You look good, Heath.”

She really did. Her hair swept around cheeks stained pink with cold and excitement, and she looked at ease in her skin and in the thick knit sweater she was wearing. Her eyes no longer darted around, searching for potential attackers.

“Thank you,” She smiled again, and it looked natural. “You too.”

There was another long pause before Heather finally said, “How is she?”

“Good. She’s… good. We’ve been busy and everything.”

“Yeah, I’m glad. It… It’s good to know that I was able to help you back.”

JD smiled and put a hand on Heather’s shoulder. “You saved us and we’re both grateful, even if…”

“She hates me?”

“She doesn’t hate you,” JD insisted, not entirely truthfully. “It’s… Veronica is complicated.” That was the simplest way of explaining that—whatever Heather’s intention had been—she had rejected Veronica while she was finally attempting to confront some of her difficult feelings and that it had been something of a setback for her.

“So are you…” Heather gestured at him, and JD felt an unwarranted stab of guilt.

“Yeah, we’re back together.”

“What happened to Holden?”

JD shrugged. “Moved. Said he couldn’t take LA anymore, so he moved to this small town… Woodsboro or something. I think he’ll get bored, but he’s sure the quiet life will suit him better.”

She didn’t mention Veronica again after that, instead dragging him around to different scenic views around the set, and occasionally introducing him to people who worked there.

“Do you see much of Heather and Heather?” He asked when she had finally brought them to her trailer for some much-needed tea and central heating.

“Heather comes by about every other weekend, but Heather’s been doing a lot of modeling and other stuff, so she’s only visited twice. It’s the longest I’ve ever gone without seeing her.”

“I wondered.” At her curious look, he offered a semi-guilty shrug. “I follow her on Instagram.”

“No way.”

“Yep, some of her recent photoshoots have been really impressive.”

“The pin-up one?” Heather arched an eyebrow.

Biology betrayed him and his face heated. “It was impressive! And the caption was about freedom of expression and feminism and history, which was all very interesting.”

Heather rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “It was a nice shoot, and I know Heather loved it. I wouldn’t be surprised if she worked with that photographer again.”

“And how’s Heather?” JD asked reluctantly; he knew it was polite to ask after her friends, but he still couldn’t bring himself to like Heather Chandler, or particularly care about her wellbeing.  

“She’s the same, always looking ahead. She has three projects lined up for me after this one, but she keeps talking about how she’s scheduling everything so I’ll be free for awards season ‘just in case’ she says. No pressure, though, right?” This time, her eye roll was bitter and a little sardonic.

“I’m sure it’s her way of saying that she thinks you’re doing a good job.”

“Or it’s her way of reminding me that everyone is counting me, that our whole future rests on my shoulders. Heather doesn’t represent any other significant clients; it’s just me. If I go down, we’ll all go down.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” JD reassured her. “You’re so much tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

She smiled softly, leaning into him a little. “Thanks, JD.”

Rather than allowing them to lapse into silence, Heather picked up the conversation after only a beat of hesitation. “So, do you have any interesting new cases?”

“Everything we’re getting is more interesting now, thanks to you. Right now we have some extortion we’re handling, and a guy who knows someone is stealing from his collection of rare antique animal figurines but can’t figure out who.”

“Did the butler do it?” Heather asked with a laugh.

“The butler checks out, but I think his stepson has something to hide.”

“And I thought I was taking all the drama with me,” Heather said, though her expression immediately clouded over.

“Heather…” JD started, falling silent when she looked away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Heath, I don’t think that you’re—”

“It’s fine. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Veronica really wanted to come, Heather,” JD said, before Heather could stop him. “It’s just that… with what happened, she knew it would be awkward, and—”

“I understand,” Heather said. “I didn’t mean to… mislead her.”

“Mislead?” JD asked. “I don’t think—”

“She was confused, and I was confused, I guess, so things got awkward.”

“Heather—”

“Anyway!” Brightness forced itself into Heather’s tone, a smile stretching over her face, “I have a call in about ten minutes, so I need to make sure I’m ready for makeup and everything. You’re welcome to hang around.”

He took the time to bite down on his frustration and answer several texts and emails before he went out to watch Heather work.

It had been many years since he’d been offered a folding chair on the sidelines of a set so that he could watch, but the rhythm hadn’t changed at all. It was almost eerie, and for a couple of moments, he expected his mother to emerge from one of the doors, or come around a corner, ready to work. Instead, Heather stepped into the center of the ring of microphones and cameras and monitors and people, all of whom were singularly focused on her.

Heather, to her credit, didn’t flinch at this. She stood naturally, her eyes open but unfocused as she muttered under her breath and waited.

Finally, Marsha called action and JD watched the almost imperceptible shift in Heather’s posture, her expression, even her hair seemed to change just slightly when she turned into her character.

For the next hour, she did the same couple of scenes over and over again, sometimes the same, sometimes after Marsha had given her notes or asked her to experiment with something different.

She was an artist at work, perfectly at ease in her environment in a way that JD had never seen from her before. He envied the absolute surety she gained while she was reciting lines, outshining her costars who may as well have not been there for all the attention JD paid them.

When she was finally done, she called over to JD. “I need to change and get undone, but I’ll meet you in my trailer!”

He nodded and returned to the trailer, checking in on the cases—Veronica had found their extortionist but hadn’t recovered whatever he had on their client—before settling in to wait.

Thankfully, Heather didn’t make him wait long. She breezed into the room in a way that seemed a little practiced, and somehow less effortless than when she’d been pretending to be someone else. “What did you think?”

JD couldn’t help hugging her. “You were brilliant. Honestly, Heather, you’re amazing. My mom would have been impressed.”

Heather flushed and returned the hug. “Thank you… that means a lot to me.”

“Really, Heather, you’re incredible—” She cut him off when she stood on her toes to kiss him.

* * *

JD was both gentle and uncompromising when he pushed her away with firm hands planted on her hips.

She was already mortified at what was—in retrospect—a stupid and uncomfortable thing to do, but in the moment, it had made sense. Well, that was a lie. She had done it because she was curious, because maybe she was wrong about something she had always known. Because Anything was better than the aching, constant thought of Veronica, which thrummed like a heartbeat in the back of her head.  

“Heather…” JD said slowly, dragging his hand through his hair, and taking a clumsily large step away from her. “I… I’m not sure—”

“I like you,” Heather whispered, more trying to convince herself than offer explanation. “I know I do. More than I’ve ever liked any guy. I’m sure that I have feelings for you.” She stared at him with desperate eyes.

To his credit, he was clearly sympathetic. “Heather…”

She wished he would stop saying her name like that.

“You don’t like me... Not like that.  You feel safe around me. We’re friends. We get each other on some levels, and we’re comfortable around each other. And I like you. But are you attracted to me? Like that?” He gestured, somehow referencing the kiss without naming it. He shook his head.

Tears were boiling behind Heather’s eyes, threatening to escape with the sobs that were currently trapped in her throat.

“Heather… I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you’re a lesbian.”

That word started the crying for real, thick gasping sobs the tore up her throat while tears fell continuously down her splotchy, red face. She barely managed a strangled, “I know.”

“And Heather,” He continued, putting his hands on her shoulders, holding her steady, “That’s an amazing thing to be.”

It was such a surprise that she paused, mid-sob, to try and understand what he was saying.

“That’s a good thing, Heather. A powerful thing. I know—believe me, I know—how shitty other people can make it seem, but there’s nothing wrong with you.”

She nodded, and he carefully wiped some of her tears with his sleeve, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It’s alright, Heather.”

“I know.”

“Heather?”

“I’m fine,” She said, very quietly.

He looked away. “Why did you tell Veronica to leave?”

The tears started again, back with a vengeance. “I had to.”

“You didn’t,” He said. “Why did you tell her to leave?”

“I panicked,” She admitted, her voice breaking. “It was all too much, and I’ve never, and… I freaked out.”

He nodded, and she couldn’t meet his eyes because he was being too understanding and she wanted to stop crying and all that kindness just made her want to start again. “You could have told her.”

“I know,” She whispered; her voice refused to be louder than that. “I didn’t mean to.”

JD carefully put an arm around her shoulders, and Heather leaned in closer. _I understand why Veronica would be with him. He’s steady._

The thought was very unwelcome, and very painful, pricking at the back of her eyes and summoning a fresh wave of tears. She should pull away. This was weird. Even with her complete lack of experience, she knew it was weird to allow yourself to be comforted by the person who’d gotten together with the person you wanted.

“It makes sense,” She said, pulling away in a way that felt like taffy-stretching her feelings, leaving bits of her broken self on his shoulder even after she’d straightened up. “You and Veronica together. I’m happy for you.”

That expression was back, the one that made her ache because it was so soft and well-meaning. “Heather… I just… I want you to know that there’s a place for you. In our lives, I mean. There’s space there, if you want to be a part of it.”

“I don’t understand.”

He looked like he’d fallen into a hole and wasn’t sure how to dig himself out. “Veronica and I… we love each other. We always will, and honestly, I’m sure that we’re going to keep doing this thing where we get together and fight and break up and see other people and fall back together because we’ll always be there. But do you know how exhausting it is to look at someone you love and know, with absolute certainty, that you’re going to destroy each other? Maybe it won’t be tomorrow, or next week, maybe we’ll last a year, or even two, but it will happen.”

“I can’t hear this,” Heather said, whispering again as the tears threatened to return. It hurt too much to think about them being in love, or about the fact that they could be in love but not be happy together.

“There’s no balance with us, Heather. We need… we need some middle ground and that’s… Jesus, I’m explaining this all wrong, but you were that for us, for a little while, Heather.”

“What are you saying?” She didn’t fully understand his implication, didn’t know that she wanted to hope that she was right about what he meant.

“That space is yours, Heather, if you want it. I care about you, and I you just admitted—of your own free will, I might add—that you like me. It’s just something to think about, in case you’re still thinking about Veronica.”

“I’m always thinking about Veronica,” She said without thinking, then blushed deeply.

He laughed. “God, I know that feeling.”

“Does it go away?” She asked, finding a slightly watery smile.

“Only for some people,” He replied with a wry smile and a shrug. “Like I said, I’m stuck here for life, and you are more than welcome to join me.”

“What will Veronica think?” Heather asked. “I mean, I assume you haven’t actually talked about this, have you?”

“No, we haven’t, but I know her, Heather, and she’s been thinking about you. What happened hurt her, I’m not going to lie, but she would understand, if you explained it to her.”

“And then what? Aren’t you afraid she’ll want to be with me, you know, instead of you?”

He shrugged. “I’m not really the jealous type, and anyway, Veronica wouldn’t have gotten together with me if I was just her second choice—we owe each other more than that—but she’s the type who can love more than one person at once, and I think that’s where we’re stuck right now.” 

Heather chewed on her lip. “I don’t know.” She thought about Heather, who had reminded her many times in many different ways that it was a bad idea to be different in her line of work. There was Hollywood eccentric—which Heather was still a little too new for anyway—and there was whatever this arrangement with JD and Veronica would be.

“I understand,” JD said, “But think about it, okay? We miss you.”

“I missed you too,” She admitted. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” He said. “I was a little surprised.”

She shrugged, happy to be on—at least slightly—more stable conversational ground. “It gets a little lonely out here. It feels like everyone else on set knows each other, and then there’s me, you know?”

He nodded. “The industry can be really insular, and a lot of the people who work sets have been doing it for a while, and they know each other, even if they’re not part of the same company.”

“So I’ve noticed,” She said. “I feel like the new kid at school all over again.”

JD shrugged. “Can’t relate. I was homeschooled until high school, then went for two years—of which I probably skipped class about seventy percent of the time—and dropped out.”

“Seriously?”

“What? It’s not like I was too concerned about getting a good job. My path was pretty set back then. I only went for what I did because my mom had just died, and my dad didn’t want to have me around.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He just shrugged again. “It was a long time ago.” A funny, almost sad, confused smile crossed his face. “You know, it’s weirdly easy to talk about her with you, almost like you knew her too.”

“Do you think I’m like her?” She asked, after a slight hesitation.

He made a face. “No; that would be weird because I want you to date my girlfriend.”

She burst out laughing, surprising both of them, but he joined her. “This is absurd,” She finally said, wiping a tear that was probably from laughing out of her eye.

“Yeah, that about sums it up.” He sighed out the rest of his laugh with a rueful little head-shake. “Things with me and Veronica are always a little crazy; if we go through with this, I hope you’re prepared for that.”

Heather snorted. “You’ve met my friends; there is no crazy that I haven’t already seen.”

“I’m very sure that I offer a completely new kind of crazy,” He told her solemnly, before a laugh broke through.

“I’m fairly certain I’ve seen them all, but you’re welcome to try,” Heather replied. “You get all kinds at Connecticut boarding schools, you know.”

“I highly doubt that,” He said. “Anyway, do you feel like grabbing a drink?”

She nodded and stood. “There’s a bar a couple blocks from set.”

They walked down the street with their heads bent and their arms pressed against each other, as though that might keep them warm, but the air was cooling rapidly as the sun went down and it was nearly unbearable by the time they’d reached the bar.

“God that was awful,” JD said shuddering and sliding into a booth. “How do you stand it?”

Heather shrugged. “I’m wearing two shirts under this sweater, and I’ve been here for months; that gave me time to get used to it.”

“I couldn’t handle it,” JD said emphatically, and Heather laughed.

“That’s very evident,” She told him.

He rolled his eyes and stood up. “I’m going to the bar, what do you want?”

“Just get me whatever you’re having,” She said. “Do you want me to—” She pulled out her wallet, but JD stopped her.

“No, thank you, Heather. You have definitely bought enough for me, at least let me get a round for the sake of my manly man instinct to pay for things for women.”

Heather arched a brow. “Didn’t we just have a conversation about how I don’t like manly men?” It felt dizzyingly bold to make a joke about it.

JD laughed and turned away, tossing his words over his shoulder as he went. “You can get the next one.”

He returned a few minutes later with two beers, which he set on the table.

“What is it?” Heather asked, glancing curiously into the foam.

“Beer?” JD shrugged. “I got whatever they had on draft.”

“Is it… I don’t know, craft or something? An IPA?”

JD laughed, covering his mouth to try and hide it. “Heath, I think you’ve been in LA too long.”

Heather flushed and ducked into her hair. “I just…” She glanced around at the bar’s other occupants, all of whom seemed oblivious to her. “I’ve never been in a place like this.”

JD followed her gaze, and she watched as he tried to see it through her eyes, before giving up with a shrug. “It’s just a dive bar, nothing special.”

“There was one of these in the town near where we went to school, and Heather and Heather were always trying to get it, but the bartender knew how to spot girls from the school and never let us in. Heather even got Heather to flash him once, but it didn’t work.”

“Charming,” JD said dryly. “That’s seriously the only other dive you’ve been to?”

“All the bars I go to back home are trendy places Heather takes me to, and everyone there is trying to see and be seen. It’s not quite the same vibe.”

“Well I know a couple great spots. There’s a gay dive not far from the office—”

“A gay bar?” Heather hissed, feeling the same fist around her heart pressure that always took hold when she thought about trying to be out. “JD, I can’t. I mean, Heather would lose her mind and—”

“You know, Heather doesn’t really get to decide where you can and can’t go. Obviously if that’s too big of a step for you, I’m not going to push it, even if I think it would be good for you, but don’t let Heather make that call.”

“And besides,” Heather said, avoiding basically everything he’d brought up, “People would talk if they saw me in a gay bar, and I know I’m not ready to deal with that rumor.”

“Heather, people said you dated _me_ , them saying you’re gay is a big step up, don’t you think?”

Heather laughed, though it still felt like her heart wasn’t beating right. He was offering her a world she’d never been allowed to touch, no matter how often she’d thought about it. “Maybe, but it’s still…”

“I get not wanting to come out, Heather; I didn’t until after my career was thoroughly dead, but I think Heather may have put some messed up shit in your head, and you deserve a chance to get away from that. Once again, just think about it.”

He was, Heather thought, the ultimate devil on her shoulder, offering her impossible things she never thought she was brave enough to openly wish for, much less seek out.

Heather Chandler seemed to hover on the other shoulder, the angel, reminding her of what was at stake, of all her dreams, which she was so close to finally having. _You’re so close,_ She seemed to whisper, _What’s one girl, one night at a bar, compared to everything you’ll have once you’ve made it?_

“Maybe,” Heather said, feeling like she was disappointing both the devil who might be right, and the angel who might be wrong. Still, it was more than she’d ever had before. “Someday.”

* * *

Veronica hadn’t slept well since the kiss that wasn’t, and any ability to start a REM cycle had completely deserted her when JD had left. He had been the thing that settled her in the time since her epic strike-out with Heather. He had been there when she was tossing and turning, ready with a kiss, sex, or a back rub when her eyes refused to stay closed.

But he’d gone to visit Heather. She told herself that this didn’t bother her, that it was fine. That Heather hadn’t made a permanent choice when she’d rejected Veronica. It was all cold comfort.

Since JD had gone, Veronica had taken to pacing their little office, imagining what she would say to Heather if she had the chance. She thought Heather deserved to know that Veronica had taken a huge chance and broken one of her most sacred rules to go see Heather that night, and to try to kiss her. Heather deserved to hear that Veronica never wanted to take another chance ever again, because running away—for all the flaws that came with it—had never led to a rejection like that one.

“I’m not disgusting,” Veronica fumed into the empty air. “You didn’t have to look at me like I’d attacked you. Like I was worse than that creep that’s been following you.”

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts because these discussions never got her anywhere. JD had tried to be her voice of reason, had tried to offer her an explanation as to why Heather had pulled away like Veronica’s lips were toxic.

Veronica knew that JD felt bad for Heather, and she knew that he liked her, which was perfectly fine with her, but she wished he wouldn’t defend her. She wished that he would get as angry as she was, because that was how things always used to go, and she didn’t want Heather to be allowed to change her and JD. Even after they’d broken up, they’d done their best to rise to the occasion and rage against the people who wronged them, including and especially lovers.

This thing with Heather felt different, and that was terrifying. Veronica wanted to run. She glanced at the keys to the motorcycle, which JD had left sitting on the desk. She could take it. She could go, just like she had after graduation.

But last time she had been able to go without looking back. She knew that if she left now, she’d be looking back at the shitty office building and the lumpy pullout couch and JD and Heather.

Change was scary, but regret was worse.

The last time she had tried not running away—when she had faced what she wanted and tried to go for it—had not been a success. It would be a long time before Veronica forgot the horror in Heather’s eyes as she’d pushed her away. But Veronica had been running for a long time, and even with all that practice, she was tired.

She picked up her cell phone off the table. JD was with Heather; maybe he could forge some stable ground with her, maybe Veronica could forgive and move on, but she wasn’t going to count on it. No, it was time to stop running.

The phone number was ingrained in her fingers, the second one she’d memorized, after that of her own home. “Mrs. Finn? Hi, it’s… Yes, it’s Veronica Sawyer. Yes, really. Mrs. Finn? I’d really like Betty’s number. I want to give her a call.”


	15. If You Come Back to California

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, am I right? Thanks for your patience. Enjoy!   
> This chapter contains mature themes, appropriate for the rating. If you're a minor ignoring that rating, I wish you wouldn't, at least for these chapters.

Heather didn’t want to admit that she felt better when JD was around. Logically, she should be mortified after what she had done, but he seemed happy enough to leave it unmentioned, which was fine with her. When he was there, she didn’t look over her shoulder, or glance through the rings of trailers and light rigs, searching for a face that didn’t belong.

It was easier to believe that her problems were really over when JD was there.

He was talking to Veronica on the phone while she picked half-heartedly at her breakfast. Five days into filming, Marsha had noticed Heather’s eating habits, and had since been on her case about food consumption. It was irritating, but almost a little nice to know that someone cared, but Heather had to be careful that she didn’t gain weight, which would invite an unholy shitstorm from Heather when she got back.

“I should probably be heading home soon,” JD said, hanging up the phone and turning back to her so he could steal a strawberry off her plate. “Veronica just got another case and I don’t think she can balance them all by herself.

“That’s alright,” Heather said, fixing a smile on her face and mentally saying goodbye to her inner peace. “Heather is coming next weekend because she’s in the middle of working on about a million prospective projects, so we’ll have tons to do.”

“Don’t bite off more than you can chew, Heather, burnout is real.”

“I don’t think your career quite reached the point where you’d get burned out,” Heather snarked on instinct, feeling bad when she saw him flinch a little.

“I wasn’t the one who got burned out,” He replied tensely. “Don’t let her make you do too much; you’re the one who actually has to work on these.”

“Heather doesn’t make me do anything,” Heather lied. “I pick my projects, and I’ll only have time for something short before this is released and the press tour and awards junket starts.”

“It would be smart to wait until after that to commit to anything,” JD said.

Heather frowned. “That’s not what Heather said.”

“The awards shit show involves a lot of private parties and drinking and talking to industry people. A lot of quiet little deals are made there, and the agents just end up filling out the paperwork afterwards.”

“That isn’t—”

“It’s true,” JD said, and she heard the note of bitterness in his voice that warned her she was about to hear something unsavory about her favorite actress’s past. “Half the reason my mom started doing drugs was to get through those parties my dad always made her go to. It felt like there was another one every night, but at the end of it, she always had roles lined up that hadn’t hit any of the major agencies.”

“That’s not how things are supposed to work,” Heather said, noticing and disliking her prim tone.

“Welcome to Hollywood,” JD said with a shrug, taking a sip of coffee.

“I can probably put Heather off,” Heather said, “But I don’t know what to tell her. She’ll lose her mind if I say it’s because of something you said.”

“Wait, Heather doesn’t like me?” JD said, feigning surprise. “God, I had no idea; she’s so subtle.”

Heather rolled her eyes and threw a crumpled napkin at him. “She sees you as a threat.”

“For what? Your attention?” He rolled his eyes.

“Sort of. Heather is… Well she’s not exactly industry, you know. Her parents know tons of industry people, of course, and they got her the job at the agency, but she doesn’t have your background. Even after years, she doesn’t have half the contacts you could if you called up a handful of people you used to know.”

“Most of those people wouldn’t take my call,” He pointed out.

“Not to mention the fact that your dad is basically the most exclusive agent working. They say he can—”

“My dad is a bastard,” JD pointed out, startling Heather with his vehemence. “And I don’t give a fuck what he can do to a person’s career.”

Heather flinched. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t.” He dragged his fingers through his hair in a way that looked painful. “Sorry, just… please don’t bring him up.”

“I’m sorry,” Heather said again, realizing that she probably should have seen this coming, what with all the rumors that surrounded his father. “I was just trying to say that… well that’s the kind of clout Heather wishes she had.”

He nodded, and she could tell he was no longer fully engaged in the conversation. “Yeah, I’m sure, but what would she be willing to pay for it?”

If there was any time to ask the question that had been at the forefront of the press around his mother’s death, this was the time, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it. Somewhere along the line, Heather realized, she had grown to like JD too much to directly ask if his father had actually murdered his mother.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, reaching out to touch his shoulder before hesitating.

“It’s fine, Heather,” He said. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“So, things are really that bad… with him?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” He replied tensely. “Just… stay away from him and anyone associated with him. He’s not…” He trailed off, leaving Heather to imagine all the ways he might finish that sentence.

After a long moment of silence, he shrugged, all trace of moodiness wiped from his face. “Anyway! Want to go for one last walk before I have to leave?”

“I don’t think I have time,” Heather said. “And… I don’t know, I guess I just try to stay on set most of the time.”

“Yeah,” JD said slowly. “I noticed that.”

Heather blushed and ducked her head away from his too-kind stare. “It’s nothing.”

“Heather, he’s gone. He can never see you again.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, hating the way her breath caught, breaking the words. “Because I’m not. No paperwork, no word from the police… Heather said she would handle it all, to keep me from being stressed but—”

“But you’re stressed because you don’t know for sure.” He nodded and had had the look of someone who was thinking through something complicated. “Well, I’m your PI; it’s my job to look into this kind of thing. I’ll dig around where I can and let you know what I hear. But you should really think about asking Heather to show you proof.”

That was easier said than done. “Yeah. Right. I’ll do that when I see her.”

“But I’ll look into it too,” He added. “Maybe things are being held up for some reason.”

“Thanks, JD. And I promise I’ll pay you when—”

“You can just come by the office sometime,” He said, a sneaky smile on his face. “Veronica might be able to help too.”

The whole room felt too hot, and Heather had to resist the urge to fan herself. “I don’t know, JD. She probably doesn’t want to see me.”

“She might,” JD stressed. “At least she wants an explanation, and once you give one, I’m sure she’ll get over it and you can really talk. You made a mistake, Heather, it shouldn’t be the reason you can’t at least try something.”

“JD, it’s not that simple! I’ve only ever kissed one other girl, and we were so drunk I don’t even know if she remembers it was me. I’ve never been in a relationship! I have no idea what I’m doing!”

“No one does,” JD insisted. “You stumble around and figure it out, and you’ll have me! I have tons of experience with Veronica.”

“Great, I feel so much better,” Heather said, letting the words drip from her lips in sarcasm syrup. She sighed, sitting heavily on one of the chairs in her trailer. “You make it sound so simple.”

“You’re trying to make it complicated,” He said. “We’re all complicated people, but that’s why it works. Veronica couldn’t be with someone who was exactly what they looked like on the surface; it’s part of why she likes you, and me. You just have to figure out how to talk about it.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” Heather said. Her mind was spinning and her head was aching. She doubted she would be able to focus on shooting later, but there would be some comfort in being someone else. Someone who had never known Veronica Sawyer or her frustrating partner, and who had never been tempted to wonder what it would be like to be with them.

Things were subtly awkward between them until she watched his car drive away. They had both talked like nothing was wrong, but it felt like they were each having two conversations, and Heather didn’t think her answers had been right. She watched him drive away, staring until the car was out of view before she turned and walked back to set. For a few more weeks, she had a job to do and nothing he had said could be allowed to get in the way.

* * *

JD drove away from Heather feeling more thoughtful than he preferred to. He had enough to deal with without adding Heather’s issues to his own, but that hadn’t really stopped him. Still, as hopeful as he felt about the arrangement he’d tried to work out with Heather, he knew she had to work through her shit first.

While he waited for his plane home, he scrolled absently through his phone, stopping at Heather McNamara’s Instagram, which was as beautifully curated as ever, but after scrolling back for a moment, he found a throwback photo of all three Heathers, their arms tossed over each other, laughing casually in school uniforms.

Heather McNamara’s hair was long and black, and she had the look of someone who’d hit an unexpected growth spurt, all limbs she didn’t know what to do with. Next to her, Heather Chandler looked much the same. Her hair was a mass of blond curls, her shoulders square, and the confident set of her smile completely unchanged, but strange looking on someone so young.

His eyes were most drawn to Heather though, who—despite the smile that matched those of her friends—looked sad and a little lost. He wondered what that girl would think of the Heather he knew, and what that girl would have thought of him back then.

The odd, vaguely uncomfortable thought that Heather had almost certainly heard of him, and probably did have thoughts about him, crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. True or not, it was too weird to think about.

Next to him, a couple of teenagers were whispering, glancing over at him before returning to hide behind their hands and talk to each other. If they had been older, adults like the couple across the terminal, he would have stared back at them, waiting and daring them to say something, but kids could be excused for obsessing over celebrity gossip.

The older girl pulled out a magazine, the cover of which displayed an unflattering photo of him and Heather walking into Marsha’s party. He hated that photo, primarily because he’d seen it everywhere since it had been published. “Has Hollywood’s Prodigal Son Returned?” The article had asked, to which he’d wanted to reply with a firm “No,” But he’d been more opposed to returning a reporter’s phone call, especially now that business was going so well.

He picked up his phone and dialed one of the very few numbers he knew.

She answered on the first ring. “On your way home?”

“Yep.”

“Good, this blackmailing case has gotten weird.”

“How weird?”

“Law and Order: SVU weird,” Veronica replied. “I recovered the photos, but the boyfriend keeps insisting he wasn’t asking for money.”

“Does the wife factor in?” Perhaps it was their years of experience with seedier jobs, but he still suspected inside jobs with anything involving close relationships. He wondered vaguely if that made him cynical.

“That’s the thing,” Veronica said. “She’s stopped returning the husband’s calls, and he thinks we called her and tipped her off.”

“Did you?” That wouldn’t be entirely out of character for Veronica.

“No. I’ve been too busy to bother with stuff like that.”

“Anything stand out about the boyfriend?”

“He’s got a steady job and a new relationship, he seems pretty happy and didn’t make the photograph recovery too complicated. Honestly, I think he meant what he said.”

“What about the boyfriend’s new boyfriend? Any involvement?”

“I don’t know. According to the boyfriend, he hasn’t told the new guy about his past with the client.”

“You believe him?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, while we’re talking about work—”

“JD, I’m mid rant about a complicated case.”

He sighed. “Yeah, V, I know, but there’s something bothering me about Heather’s case.” He braced himself for whatever was about to happen.

“Heather’s case is closed, JD. It was nice of you to visit her, but—”

“Veronica, please—”

He felt their office get colder, even over the phone. “I don’t want to keep talking about this, JD. Ruiz is in jail. He’s gone. It’s over, and she clearly never wants to see me again, so I think we should just put it all to rest.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think any of that is definitely true.” He focused on relaxing his shoulders, which had grown extremely tense.

“What do you mean?”

“Heather said she hasn’t heard anything else about Ruiz, because apparently Heather Chandler is dealing with all of it, but—”

“That is really strange.” He could hear Veronica’s thinking voice and knew that he had her for the mystery at least. “Usually they would only share that information with Heather herself, right?”

“That’s what I would have thought.”

“Maybe she and Heather worked out a deal or something though; that’s not unheard of.”

“Heather seemed scared,” JD said, hoping he wasn’t crossing a line. “She didn’t say as much, but I don’t think she would want to be out of the loop.”

“Did she imply that Heather was hiding something from her, or is that coming from you? Because I think we need to at least realize that maybe, as far as Heather Chandler is concerned, you don’t have the most objective viewpoint.”

He groaned. “Fine, maybe, but you didn’t see Heather—”

“Obviously,” Veronica muttered. “Can we also keep in mind that Heather hates me and never wants to see me again? We can’t get involved in this, if it’s even a thing.”

“Again,” JD said, “I don’t think that’s true either. She asked about you, and… I don’t know. Maybe you should think about talking to her?”

“Are you inventing a job so that I have an excuse to talk to her? Because that’s too much meddling. Heather made it very clear that—”

“Nothing is clear with Heather, V,” JD said, loud enough that more than just the teenagers were staring at him. “She’s buried under so many layers of denial and shyness that I honestly think we’re the first people she’s been honest with about her feelings in years, possibly decades.”

“JD, she’s in her twenties, how old do you think she was when she went into denial?” He could practically hear Veronica rolling her eyes.

“A long fucking time! You’ve seen her; you know how she is. I know what happened was hard—”

“No, JD, you don’t know,” Veronica snapped. “It was horrible. She looked… god, JD, she looked disgusted. I haven’t hated myself that much since Tracey Newman called me a dyke in the ninth grade. You don’t know what that was like, JD. I thought she liked me. I took a chance—on your advice, I might add—and it backfired spectacularly—”

“Oh, come on! You are not blaming me for this,” JD said, his temper flaring to life.

“No,” Veronica said, though the sound of frustrated breathing made her words less believable. “I’m just saying that last time I took your advice on a Heather-matter, it didn’t work out. This time, I think I’ll just stick with my instincts.”

He sighed. “I think my plane is boarding. Can we revisit this when I get home?”

“JD, why do you even care? It’s over, you got the girl. Heather’s loss. Right?”

“Well… I don’t know, I thought that you could, or we could, rather—”

“Oh my god, JD, please tell me you didn’t bring that up to Heather! That was… look anytime I’ve talked about that kind of thing with you was purely hypothetical, and honestly, with Heather, I mean… Jesus, please tell me you didn’t—”

“Sorry, I have to go, see you in a few hours!” He hung up the phone in a rush, shouldering his bag to join the line.

* * *

Veronica had considered meeting JD at the airport, but even with their recent influx of cash, it hadn’t seemed smart or practical to get a cab to the airport just to say hi to JD an hour earlier than she otherwise would, when they would still need to call another cab to take them home. So she sat in the office and tried not to pace.

She looked around at the desk chair they’d replaced, and the filing cabinet whose drawer still stuck, but which was full of casework and contacts. The couch was folded up, and Veronica glanced at it with a surprising measure of affection.

In six months, neither of them had brought up the fact that one or both of them could afford to move out. It would have only brought up the discussion of whether they would move in together or find roommates, and if they moved in together, would they get a one or two bedroom place? Could they afford two bedrooms? They were doing well now, but the impact from Heather’s publicity would surely dry up, and then they would have to be frugal again; a two bedroom apartment in LA was expensive, but what if they broke up again? Owning an apartment together, one that they had chosen to move into, rather than being forced into together like their office, seemed like a major step. Was she ready for that?

Maybe she might have been, but the idea of him tossing out the idea that Heather join their relationship irked her and frustrated her. She loved him, but he would always be meddling in her business, assuming he knew what was best for her. Veronica didn’t need that.

She tried to keep her mood in check and work on cases while she waited for him, so by the time he walked in, she had mostly forced herself to forget what he’d told Heather. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, running her fingers through his soft hair.

“Miss me?” He asked, a stupid smile on his face.

“No,” She said, rolling her eyes and kissing him. “But I need my assistant.”

“Oh, your assistant?” He asked. “When did I get demoted from partner?”

“Either when you left me with a pile of work as tall as you are or when you decided to throw out the idea of a polyamorous relationship to someone who has made her lack of feelings for me totally clear.” Apparently she hadn’t forgotten as well as she’d wanted to.

He sighed. “Veronica—”

“Don’t. JD, I did miss you, but you can’t just… that was too far.”

“She’s sorry, and the rest is for her to tell you herself, but I promise she feels bad about what happened and—”

“Please stop.” Veronica held her hand up. “If Heather wants me to know any of this; she needs to tell me herself. And she seemed pretty sure she didn’t want me. Are you sure it’s not you she’s into?”

A strange, stricken look passed over JD’s face, like she’d triggered a memory he didn’t want. “Yes, I’m very sure.”

“Right. Anyway, the blackmailing case—”

“Seriously? Shoptalk, now?”

“Did you have anything else you wanted to mention?” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, which seemed a little childish, and instead settled for an even glare.

“Well, did you do anything fun while I was gone?”

“I worked, JD.” She paused for a beat. “Okay, is that a good enough segue into shoptalk?”

He sighed. “Sure, go for it. Is this still about the blackmailing case? Or did you look into Heather’s thing?”

“Blackmail,” She said, watching his face fall. “I did look into Heather’s thing, but it’s a little harder since we lost our guy on the force. I’m working on a new in, but they’re pretty disinclined to share that kind of thing with me.”

He nodded. “Okay, thanks for looking. What’s up with the blackmailer?”

She filled him in on the very small progress she’d made in the nearly twelve hours it had taken him to get here. Mostly it was more of the same, and the client was pushing hard towards a fast conclusion.

“What do we know about him? Did you dig at all?” JD asked, flipping through the folder he’d swiped off the desk.

“A little. He’s rich with family money and smart investments, been married for twenty years. Claims that the boyfriend is the only one, and that there’s no way someone else would blackmail him.”

“But you don’t think the boyfriend did it?”

Veronica shrugged. “I’m not sure. He had the photos on his computer but claimed that he hadn’t used them and didn’t intend to. He was easygoing about handing them over to me.”

“Maybe he has backups?”

“He could, but honestly, I got the feeling that he’d moved on. It’s kind of a mess.”

“Okay, let’s move on from the boyfriend,” JD said. “Who else? If it’s not the obvious guy, who could have done it?”

“The wife? She doesn’t seem to know though, unless she’s a better actress than I gave her credit for.”

“The client?”

“Please explain how and why a man would blackmail himself? Great twist for a movie, but not exactly practical.”

He sighed, dragging his hand through his hair in that familiar way that was somehow comfortable, normal. “Right. Sorry, too much time on a film set, I guess.”

She nodded. “Hey, this might be dumb, but what do you say we put work away for tonight? We could get takeout, get drunk?” She stepped over to him, moving closer, tugging on the sleeve of his stupid coat to pull him closer.

“Healthy choices,” He said, nodding and pulling her closer. He leaned in, kissing her softly. “I think I could live with that.” One hand slid up her back to wrap in her hair.

They kept kissing, eventually staggering back to fall clumsily onto the couch. He pulled her onto his lap and the kiss was no longer remotely casual. This was something she had missed, something they had both pretended for too long that they didn’t need.

His hands were on her ass, pulling her onto his lap because neither of them could be bothered to pull the couch out into a bed.

She tugged on his shirt, pulling it off and tossing it away, where it landed on their desk. The thought that they had more to discuss crossed her mind, but she kissed him harder and pushed it away, tossing it aside with her shirt and shoes.

“Veronica?” He muttered against her neck. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” She said, biting at his earlobe. She wondered vaguely if they meant that they’d missed each other while he was gone, or if they had missed being close, being together.

Rolling her head back, she let him take the lead. This was what they’d always been good at, movements in sync, communicating perfectly, in a way they rarely could during normal conversation.

He rested his head on her shoulder and she leaned in, moving just enough for him to slide inside her. He kissed her again, long and slow as they moved.

When they had finished, the awkward, annoying task of pulling out the couch couldn’t be ignored anymore, because there just wasn’t room to lay on the couch, or even a comfortable incentive to do so.

Finally, they were laying around each other, half-dozing, shifting occasionally so that neither was lying directly on one of the not quite exposed mattress springs.

Strangely, she was in a confessing mood. “I lied, earlier, about not doing anything while you were gone.”

“Really? What did you do?” He was playing with her hair, only barely awake.

“I called Betty Finn.” She wasn’t even sure he knew who she was, but there was no one else to tell, and suddenly it seemed important that someone knew. “We talked.”

“Mhm? And how was she?”

“I thought she would be the same,” Veronica said, remembering that she had pictured Betty as she had been in high school, draped in layers of ill-fitting clothes, her hair a thick cloud of curls that her mother hadn’t known how to take care of, but the woman on the other end of the phone had a smooth, confident voice, and the social media Veronica had obsessively searched later had revealed a matching exterior.

Betty, once frumpy and unfashionable, uncomfortable in her much darker than the small town Ohio average skin, had grown into a sharp-eyed event planner, her thick-framed glasses now trendy and quirky-cool.  

“She wasn’t though. I guess… somewhere along the way, she changed.”

“Didn’t we all?” JD murmured, pulling her closer to him.

Veronica rolled over, nodding as she became deeply entrenched in thoughts about the nature and philosophy of change. This was, apparently, one of the occasions where sex made her maudlin.

“Have I?” She asked JD, but he was already asleep.

She thought about the last time they’d been like this, tangled up on their office couch when they should have been working. They had thought they were going under, had thought this was the end of the business they had fought so hard for.

Now she was sleeping with him again, no longer setting up rules so that they wouldn’t implode like they had last time. What had changed, she wondered, that had made this possible again? 

 


	16. You've Been Bitten Once and Now You're Twice as Shy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait to post this but idk why anymore so here you go. Enjoy!

Heather woke up in her own bed, and for a long moment, she just stretched, rolling over so she could let herself drift off again. She had arrived back in LA the night before, and was enjoying the first slow, quiet morning she’d had in months.

Her phone rested on the nightstand next to her, and she was sure it was full of messages and calls from Heather, who would want her on the warpath for her next project.

“They have someone else in talks too, Heather, you need to wow them.” Heather’s voice in her mind was always perfectly clear, even when she wasn’t recalling direct quotes. Such was the side effect of knowing someone for so long; they got stuck in you.

She might have messages from Heather, too, trying to set up plans which were thinly veiled attempts to get them photographed in the trendiest bars and clubs the City of Angels had to offer.

For now, the only thing Heather wanted for herself was a cup of tea and some quiet time in her study.

The sun poured in, illuminating the view out her windows as she settled into the oversized desk chair to sip her tea. She stared at the desk, which had been where she’d kept the _Strike the Sun_ script to study. The desk looked too big without it there, without any script to give this room purpose.

She didn’t have a job. Not officially anyway. Until she had seen Heather and signed onto something new, she was unmoored. Technically, even after she’d signed, her job was _Strike_. The editors would be working their magic while Heather talked about filming up north and told charming stories about needing to buy new coats and boots because she didn’t own anything practical. People would cheer for her on red carpets as she walked towards premieres at fancy, historic movie theaters.

As she pictured this scene, she was surprised to find that in the corner of her imagination’s eye, JD and Veronica hovered, protecting her.

It was silly; they had done their job and she wouldn’t need them at future events, which would have their own security. JD and Veronica would have too much to do with their now booming business. It was ridiculous to think that they would be there, and yet when she forcibly smudged them out of the image, it felt off balance. Heather’s heartbeat picked up and she glanced over her shoulder, seeing only her quiet bookcase and the framed pictures scattered there.

“Stupid daydream,” She muttered, wondering how she could manage to turn a daydream into something scary.

She took several long sips of tea until she was calm enough to breathe normally, then finally checked her phone.

As predicted, she was swamped with texts from Heather and Heather, each with her particular brand of questions and criticism. Heather had called about parts—Heather would have two scripts to look over later this afternoon—and to let her know that she had to go be seen somewhere in LA, because people were starting to forget about her after she’d disappeared for months to film _Strike_.

Instead of trying to respond to either of them separately, she called them both at once, bracing herself for what was sure to be a chaotic conference call.

“Heather! Welcome back! You will not believe what you’ve missed, I swear being gone for six months is like moving to mars. Thalia got, you’ll never guess this, pregnant! Her whole feed is nothing but vegan mommy memes, I swear.”

“Heather, no one cares,” Heather drawled out, her words syrupy and slow compared to the never-ending gush from Heather.

Heather smiled into the phone, surprised by the wave of nostalgia that overcame her. “Hey, I know we have stuff to do, but I was just wondering, could we maybe blow it off?”

She could practically hear Heather’s eyebrows arch upwards. “Blow it off.”

“Um, yeah, blow it off, and do something, I don’t know, fun or something,” Heather finished lamely and brought her hand to her mouth to bite at her nails, stopping herself just before she ruined her manicure.

There was a long, slightly strange pause, and Heather wondered if maybe Heather and Heather were texting each other to determine their answer. The thought made her stomach twist.

“I could use some new shoes,” Heather said finally, “We could hit the drive for a photo op?”

“God, does anyone under fifty shop on the drive anymore?” Heather said.

“Yeah, Heather, isn’t it all tourists?” Heather said, hating that she was joining in, but loving that she was on Heather’s side for once.

“Yes, who the hell do you think is going to get the pictures of us? We’ll just see what middle aged _Hills Secret_ fans will swarm Heather and people will be talking about her.”

Little conversational needles like that had never been Heather’s strong suit, but Heather and Heather both excelled at them, often leaving her feeling like she was their pincushion, or sometimes their voodoo doll. And yet she had missed it, had missed the familiar, quiet battles that they waged on each other, just for the fun of it.

“Fine, we’ll go to the drive, and Heather will smile for the cameras and Heather will buy new shoes, but Heather, we need to have some decisions in the next few days, so find some time later to read those scripts.”

“Yes, Heather.”

Two hours later, Heather and Heather were in the car with Ori, parked and waiting for Heather to come out. Heather’s apartment was a refurbished old building that—Heather thought—was occupied entirely by twenty-something trust fund babies who put things like “influencer” and “Social architect” on their tax forms but couldn’t have explained what those words meant had someone asked.

These people had formed Heather’s circle of friends, which meant that she’d managed to create a perfect little bubble of people who talked about metrics and subscribers and ad revenue like it mattered. For Heather, it was maddening, and even though it made her feel like an old man on his porch, yelling at passing children, she wanted to tell them all to get a real job.

Finally, Heather emerged from the lobby, detaching herself from a slender brunette in yoga pants, her hair and makeup perfect.

“Yes, Trish! Let’s meet for yoga-tinis at Buddha Booze and we can talk about that collab!” Her smile vanished as soon as she was in the car. “I fucking hate her.”

“She looks awful,” Heather obligingly agreed. The girl was probably harmless, but Heather would have definitely avoided talking to her at a party.

“So, where first?” Heather said eagerly, immediately forgetting whatever unpleasant encounter she’d had.

“You said you wanted shoes,” She reminded her, knowing that none of them needed anything and that the public appearance was the real goal behind the trip.

“And honestly, what we really need is to start working out some things for the press events. It’s going to be madness once it all starts, so it’s smart to start getting organized now.” Heather smiled at Heather in a way that made her heart warm, like she’d suggested this trip because she wanted to start thinking about what she would wear. Even if that wasn’t true, even the faintest praise from Heather was cherished out of habit.

But not quite as much as Heather was used to.

She realized with a start, that Heather’s small smile had made her heart do the little happy-turn it always had, but it felt hollow, just like the smile was. She knew now—and probably always had—what a real smile looked like, and what that happy flip could really be.

Her thoughts turned to Veronica, but she squashed it quickly; this was about spending time with Heather and Heather. She wasn’t going to think about Veronica all day.

For the first couple of hours, it worked. They buzzed around different stores, trying on and critiquing various outfits, accessories, and shoes as they moved like hurricanes through the shopping center. As they went, shy teenaged girls and giddy forty-something women stopped her, blushing furiously as they asked, oh so delicately, if she would mind taking a photo with them.

Even when she minded, she never said so. She smiled for all the photos, and subtly encouraged them to post them online.

“Some of those pictures are already on the fansites,” Heather said, with something almost like glee in her voice. “God, I thought we would have to rescue you from total obscurity, but we are creating buzz.”

Heather glanced at the photo, smiling as she recalled the flush-faced teenager, with messy hair and a rainbow pinned to her flannel shirt, stuttering out the photo request. She had captioned her picture with dozens of emojis and all capital letters. “Heather was sooo nice!”

JD would have hated this, and probably would have brushed off anyone who attempted to act like a fan of his, but Heather liked it. Perhaps it was the attention and the adoration, but it was nice to have someone look at her like she mattered, like she was someone unique and special. It was also a lovely reminder that people cared about what she did, that they liked watching the scenes she worked so hard on.

Call her selfish, or attention-seeking, or shallow, or any of the many things people had called her throughout her life, but it was nice the be famous.

* * *

JD’s phone chimed, the distinctive tone that he was getting a news alert for something he’d bookmarked. “Heather’s out,” He said, aiming for a casual tone.

Veronica didn’t look up, but the line of her spine went almost imperceptibly tense. He tone was the same forced-casual as his. “You track her?”

“You don’t?” He said.

“Of course not! She doesn’t need us monitoring her.”

A second later, Veronica’s phone buzzed on the desk, revealing her lie.

JD raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

Flushing, Veronica snatched her phone off the table. “You made me paranoid! All that talk about not being sure if Ruiz was in jail got me started.”

“Yeah, any news on that?” Now that he didn’t have Holden, it was up to her to make a contact in the LAPD. He wished he didn’t have to send her into the lion’s den, but some of them were people she’d vaguely known in school which was the closest thing to an in they were going to get.

“None yet. No one is willing to leak details about a celebrity case, unsurprisingly. God, why did you have to drive Holden out of the city?” A smile was playing around her lips, and he knew she was joking, but it still stung a little.

“I didn’t! It’s a godawful place and he finally bailed so he could be the small town good guy hero-cop he always dreamed of being.”

She frowned. “You don’t hate it here that much, do you?”

“I don’t hate it,” He said grudgingly, “But it is a godawful place.”

Veronica shrugged apathetically. “Fair enough.” A small pause went by before Veronica said, “So, what’s Heather up to?”

He allowed her to believe that he bought her casual air. “Out shopping with Heather and Heather, and apparently taking a lot of pictures with fans.”

“How does she look?” Veronica was looking at a catalogue they’d received in the mail, and he wondered briefly when she’d developed such an interest in fishing gear.

“See for yourself,” He said, dropping his phone on the pages in front of her.

For a second, it seemed like she would look away, but she must have realized that that would have been twice as telling as whatever her reaction to the photo would be.

“Looks like she’s having fun.” He could only tell that the photo had inspired some feelings in her because he’d known her for so long and was intimately familiar with all her micro expressions. What exactly that feeling was, was hard to say, but he sensed there was something like grief there.

“You okay?” He asked.

She met him with a glare. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He sighed, giving up the fight for now. “Anything turn up for the figurine robbery?”

“The figurines,” Veronica said. “Guy tried to pawn them at the first shop that comes up when you google ‘Pawn Shops near me’. Idiot.”

JD nodded his agreement. “So what’s next?”

“Nothing,” Veronica said, returning to the fishing magazine. “Client says he’s happy to have them back and he doesn’t care who stole them. I told him to call us if anything else goes missing and we’ll start where we left off.”

“Oh.” He felt disappointed, like he’d watched a movie with a lame ending. When she’d told him her idea for the agency, he’d imagined it as something out of an old movie. Even when they’d been at their lowest, he’d found a subtle romanticism in all of it, though Veronica never had. Now that business was booming, he’d thought that perhaps life would be interesting, but their cases were no more exciting than what they’d had before.

All except for one. “Do you think someone is still after Heather?” He asked abruptly.

Veronica looked a little startled. “I… Ruiz was, right? And assuming he’s still in jail, which is probably a safe assumption, no, I don’t think anyone is after her.”

“Then why are we still digging around in all of that?” He asked.

“Well, we do need a new police contact, and starting with something benign like that is a good way to get a foot in the door. And…”

He wondered if this would be the moment she finally admitted it. He held his breath, waiting for her to open up.

“And Heather’s case was the most interesting we’ve ever had. Honestly, I thought I had a crush on her, but it’s good it didn’t work out. I was just swept up in the excitement of it all. I think we both wish we were still living that.”

Six months was a long time, so he figured he wasn’t remembering anything perfectly, but he remembered fear and doubt and discomfort, not excitement. He remembered frustration, tension, and the nagging feeling that he was missing something obvious. But he didn’t say that. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

She settled back into the desk chair and he shifted on the couch, not sure what to do with restless legs and too much boredom. “Are we giving up?”

Before she could answer, his phone rang, and the woman in question’s name flashed on the screen.

“Heather?” He said, though he was sure he’d meant to start with a hello.

“JD?” He voice was thin and shaky over the phone. “I—”

“Are you okay?” She didn’t sound it, but that was the easiest place to start.

Next to him, Veronica was so fully engrossed in the fishing magazine that he was certain she was listening.

“I’m out with Heather and Heather and someone is following me.”

“Are you sure?” JD asked, then felt bad for doubting her.

“Yes… I don’t know. Probably. I just… I have this feeling, it’s making me sick. There are people all over the place; he could be anywhere.”

JD looked at Veronica, hoping to get some strength from her, but she was still very pointedly buried in the catalogue pages. “Heather… it’s okay. Just breathe for a minute.”

She took a couple of very audible breaths. “I’m just… he’s here. I know it.”

“Did you see him?” He shot a panicked look at Veronica, barely catching her eye before she looked away again.

“No,” She said. “It’s too crowded, I just know.”

A sad certainty settled over him, and he sighed. “Heath, I don’t think… I don’t think anyone’s there.”

“No!” Heather insisted. “I can… I know he’s there. He has to be. JD, I can’t breathe and I’m shaking. He’s here somewhere.”

“You’re having a panic attack, Heather,” He said. “Just try to breathe through it. Give yourself a minute to relax. It will pass. Can you call Heather or Heather?”

There was a rustling sound, as though she were shaking her head viciously. “No. They’d… they can’t know about this.”

“Do you want me to come get you?” He offered, not sure if it was a good precedent to set.

Veronica wasn’t pretending not to watch him anymore and was staring, vaguely quizzical, but shockingly unjudgmental.

Heather’s voice was shaky when she replied. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll be right there.” JD stood up and grabbed a jacket off the back of a chair. His hand was on the doorknob when his phone buzzed, displaying a message from Shama.

_Still on for our meeting? I’m going to be worried if you cancel again._

“Goddamnit,” He muttered. Technically, he’d known about the meeting. He distinctly remembered writing a note to himself, and leaving it somewhere so that he wouldn’t forget.

“What? Is something wrong?” Heather said, and he could perfectly picture her worried frown and wide, round eyes.

He looked back at Veronica, desperate. She stood slowly and held out her hand. “Give me the keys.”

* * *

Veronica was good at making bad decisions. It wasn’t something she could put on her resume, but it was true all the same. As she wove through LA traffic, she wished there could be some ultimate benefit to being this much of a dumbass, but she seriously doubted it.

JD had to meet with Shama. Both she and Veronica had been on his case about meetings, ever since he’d met up with Joel at the party, she knew that—for stressful moments at least—his cravings had come back.

She’d caught him with the long, blank stare she associated with his bad days, and though he shook it off and smiled at her, she didn’t trust it. He still refused to admit it, but Heather’s case had brought up some of his oldest and deepest issues which strained his recovery.

 _That’s why I don’t want to get involved with Heather again,_ Veronica told herself, winding around a stopped car in an illegal and rude maneuver. It had nothing to do with that look on Heather’s face, which was permanently seared into Veronica’s memory, or the gut twisting feeling she still got when she remembered the kiss that wasn’t.

It had nothing to do with the fact that that memory was stored with all the other times a girl had said or done something that sent Veronica fleeing for the metaphorical closet, her face burning in shame.

She just wanted to protect JD.

These weren’t thoughts that made her more inclined to speed through traffic so she could soothe Heather’s injured feelings, so she abandoned them, twisting the throttle just a little harder and continuing on her way.

By the time she’d found any parking that was even slightly close to where Heather was, she’d had enough time to gather herself, steeling her expression and her feelings against whatever would happen when she found her.

Several salespeople approached her with smiling suspicion when she walked into the expensive boutique. “Can we help—”

Veronica breezed past them without a glance. _Look like you know what you’re doing. Don’t flinch and they won’t stop you._

They didn’t, falling back into their usual posts as she skimmed by them towards the fitting rooms, where the Heathers’ distinctive hair was visible around one of the doors.

“Heather?” Veronica said, stepping up to them.

Heather Chandler sneered at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Heather called us,” Veronica said. She shouldered past them and knocked on the dressing room door. “Heather?”

“V-Veronica?” The voice that came from the other side was shaky and frail, almost childlike.

Ignoring the twinge of pity this inspired, Veronica nodded. “JD sent me; he had a meeting. What’s going on?”

“Someone was following me.”

“Did you see who? Or where they went?” Veronica glanced around the store and saw nothing and no one out of the ordinary.

Heather cleared her throat a little. “No. It… I just felt that someone was there.”

“Oh.” Next to her, Heather and Heather exchanged a glance.

Heather Chandler glanced at Veronica and hissed. “We need to get her out of there. If people hear—”

“Relax,” Veronica said, keeping her voice low. To Heather, she said, “How do you feel now?”

“A little better. No one can see me in here.”

“Yeah. You can’t… Heather, you can’t stay in there forever though. How would you feel about leaving?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. What if he’s still out there?”

Veronica looked at Heather and Heather, who both shrugged. “There’s no one out here. I’ll walk you to your car and you can go home.”

“He knows where I live,” Heather said, so quietly that Veronica could barely make out her words.

“Relax, Heather,” Heather Chandler said. “He’s in prison. You’re fine. Just please come out before everyone starts talking about—”

Veronica had to swallow the urge to snap at her, and instead focused on Heather. “You’re safe, Heather, just come out.”

She froze, the implications of her phrasing distracting her, and bringing back that ‘Everyone at the sleepover is looking at you like you’re gross’ feeling that she’d been trying to suppress on the ride over.

She coughed over it. “I just mean, you have to leave eventually.”

“Right.” Heather cleared her throat again and pushed the door open. Her face was just slightly red, only barely noticeable in the store’s unfortunate lighting. “Sorry, I just… There was someone… I mean—”

“There was no one there, Heather,” Heather McNamara said quietly. “No one was behind us.”

“But—”

“You got scared, Heather,” Chandler said, sharply but somehow not unkindly. “That’s all.”

For a second, Heather tensed like she would argue but her shoulders sagged and she nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Heather,” Veronica said.

For the first time, Heather met Veronica’s eyes, and it felt like a window breaking on a space shuttle, airless and freezing and falling all at once.

“I didn’t mean to drag you all the way here over nothing,” Heather said quietly, and repeated, “I’m sorry.”

Veronica tensed, forcing herself to breathe, mentally slapping duct tape over that window until there was air again. “It’s fine, Heather. It’s my job.” Her voice was colder than she’d meant it to be, aloof.

Heather nodded. “Thank you for coming.”

A million responses, starting with _Of course_ and running down to _JD made me_ stuck in Veronica’s throat. She settled on the most neutral. “You’re welcome.”

“I called Ori,” Heather McNamara said, her smile fixed and perfect. “Let’s get out of here. I’m totally in the mood for a night in. What do you say to takeout at my place, Heather?”

Heather wiped her eyes and her lips stretched into a smile that hurt Veronica to look at. “That sounds nice.”

Shuffling awkwardly, Veronica looked around at the salesgirl who was pretending not to stare at them. “I think I might be parked in the red, so I should go.”

“Thank you again for coming. I’ll send a check as soon as I—”

“Don’t bother,” Veronica said, just a little too sharply. “It’s… this one is on the house.”

An expression Veronica couldn’t name—or didn’t want to—flitted over Heather’s face. “Oh. Thank you.”

Veronica shrugged, shoving her hands deep in her pockets. “Um, call us if you need anything.”

“I will. Thank you!”

“You already said that,” Veronica heard Heather Chandler said.

“Yeah, Heather, like a hundred times,” Heather McNamara said.

Veronica was already walking away, fleeing towards the safety of the bike and the road and her tiny little office with JD, who would ask what had happened but wouldn’t push when she didn’t want to talk about it.

When JD returned that night, she was pretending to relax on the bed, flipping through the same fishing catalogue she’d been pretending to read earlier.

“Thinking about a new hobby?” He asked mildly.

She laughed, gesturing to the almost hilariously expensive fishing rod she was looking at. “I don’t think I can afford it. How was Shama?”

What she was really asking is ‘How are you?’ and they both knew it, but they also both knew his habit of finding his way into the topic in a roundabout way.

“She’s good. We had a lot to talk about, but we had to switch cafés about halfway through because people kept coming up to me.”

JD’s fame seemed to come and go in waves. Many days would pass without anyone recognizing him from the tabloid articles which had declared him ‘Heather’s Hero’ and a lot of other bullshit, but then there were days when he was a minor celebrity, bogged down with eager fans.

“I’m sorry. I bet that gave you a lot to talk about though.” This was another roundabout question, and he saw her meaning immediately.

“Like I told Shama, I’m not going to relapse just because people want me to tell them what it’s like to be a hero.” He crossed over to the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a bottle of vodka and a couple of paper cups they’d taken from a coffee shop around the corner.

“I know,” Veronica said, accepting the cup he offered her and taking sip. “You know, with all this money, we could start buying mixers.”

He laughed. “I think we’re straight liquor kind of people. We got used to it that way.”

Veronica snorted. “The only thing that’s straight about us is the way we take our liquor?”

“I’ll drink to that.” He bumped his glass against hers and sprawled next to her on the bed. “So…”

Tactfully, he had waited until she’d had a few sips before he brought it up, but she still wasn’t entirely ready for his question, even though she’d known it was coming ever since he’d reached for the alcohol.

“How’s Heather?”

She sighed and lowered her drink. “I don’t know.” Part of her wished he didn’t know her as well as he did, wished she could hide what she was thinking from him. But it was JD, and he knew her, and he knew that when she said she didn’t know, what she meant was that she was worried.


	17. They Don't Really Have a Clue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Building up to some bigger stuff here! I promise exciting chapters are coming. Enjoy!

Heather was great. Heather was always great. Heather was not terrified, unable to sleep, or stressed about the dozens of public appearances and interviews that Heather had scheduled for her in anticipation of the _Strike_ premier.

Buzz for the film was reaching a fever pitch, with only a matter of weeks until it hit theaters.

“Your life will change forever,” Heather had said, with glee that Heather desperately wished she could match. “It’s finally time.”

And Heather knew she was being selfish. Heather and Heather had been waiting for this just as long as she had. They’d all been talking about this for years, ever since late nights in their dorm room. Whatever breakdown Heather felt like she was on the edge of, she owed it to them to keep it together.

She was taking her usual few minutes to drink a cup of tea and meditate on what it was like to feel calm and safe in her home when Heather walked in, tapping on her phone.

“Good morning,” Heather said cautiously.

After a long pause where she finished whatever she was doing, Heather looked up, flicking her long mane of hair over her shoulder. “GQ won the race.” She smiled like this was supposed to mean something to Heather, who smiled back out of habit.

“What?”

Heather rolled her eyes. “The race to get a print interview with you before the film comes out. It’ll be one of those ‘and introducing!’ type things where they act like you’re a new discovery, and then when _Strike_ comes out everyone will recognize you.”

“Everyone that reads GQ,” Heather pointed out. It was a very… male audience from what she knew.

But Heather only shrugged. “They wanted the interview, Heather, so we’re doing it. I have a company luncheon this afternoon, so I’ll send someone over to practice with you.”

That gave Heather pause. “This afternoon? When is the interview?”

“Tomorrow.” Heather glanced at the hall mirror and fussed with her hair for a moment before returning her attention to her phone. “It’s a bit of a rush, I know, but I think they’re slipping you in the place of a cancelled interview.”

Strong, sure dread built in Heather’s gut, but she asked anyway. “Who was the interview.”

Underneath the sharp pads in her jacket, Heather saw Heather’s shoulders stiffen, but she didn’t look up from her phone. “Courtney Hunt.”

“I can’t do it,” Heather said. The words fell out of her mouth unexpectedly, and too loud.

“Yes, you can,” Heather said, her tone exaggeratedly patient. “Big break, remember? We’re taking everything we can get. We’re going to shove you so far down the public’s throats that by the time the Oscars roll around, they’ll be begging you to accept one.”

Heather swallowed hard and nodded. She didn’t really want to say no anyway. It had been a passing impulse, and an unwise one. “Of course, Heather. Sorry, I just—”

Finally, Heather made eye contact with her, and stepped closer to Heather, resting both her hands on her shoulders. “I’m worried about you, Heather.”

Logically, Heather knew that Heather was only a couple of inches taller than her, but with her heels, and Heather’s bare feet, and the mountain of hair, and her padded jacket, Heather felt like a child standing in front of a god.

“I’m worried that you aren’t… handling things. First with calling your bodyguard when you were on set and then that whole debacle at the boutique. In fact, Marsha called me—”

“Marsha called you?” Heather interrupted, trying to force herself past Heather’s larger-than-life presence to focus on the conversation. It made no sense that Marsha would call Heather’s agent.

“She said you might have been having some… health troubles.” Heather had known Heather for long enough to know exactly what was wrong with her.

“Bulimia is so high school, Heather, I thought we were over this.”

“I am,” Heather lied. “It was just the stress. I’m fine now.”

Heather nodded, satisfied. “Good. Remember, we only want that when we need pity stories, and since your stalker story blew up, we don’t need any more of those.”

“Right,” Heather said. “Perfect.”

“Okay, I should take off; I’m getting my hair done before this work lunch. Call me later and let me know how the fake interview goes. I’ll have Megan or Sam or whoever does it give some feedback for us to go over.” She was already walking out, the bright red soles of her shoes echoing off Heather’s polished floors.

* * *

JD flipped off the LAPD office building he’d just been told, in no uncertain terms, that he had to vacate. It wasn’t entirely mature of him, but who were they to get in the way of his investigation?

“Ay, man, fight the system!” A homeless man sitting on a bench next to him said, raising his arms like he was cheering a sporting event.

JD smiled. “Thanks.” He fished a couple dollars—the only cash he had—out of his pocket and gave it to the man before continuing on his way.

He called Veronica, who picked up on the first ring. “News?”

“Hi, how are you? Things going well? Well, since you asked, I just got back from—”

“Don’t be a smartass.” Veronica sighed. “So, I take it that means we didn’t get anything?”

“They threw me out and didn’t even give me a hint of a lead for my troubles.” He dragged a hand through his hair, vaguely wishing he had something to throw while a little hint of a craving started to itch in the back of his mind.

Over the phone, he heard Veronica exhale hard. “I know you don’t want to hear this—”

“Then don’t say it,” He snapped.

Veronica ignored him. “But that might be the end of it. We looked into it, JD. We did everything we could, but without more information about Ruiz, we can’t know what to do next. Heather is fine, JD. She’s just stressed.”

“You got mad at me when I said that,” He pointed out. “At the beginning of all this, when I thought it was a joke.”

“That was before we caught the guy!”

“But what if we didn’t? Or what if he’s not in custody anymore?”

“We have no reason to reason to believe that,” Veronica reminded him. “And every time we’ve tried to ask, we’ve hit a wall.”

“I need to ask Heather,” He said. “She can find out.”

“Right.” He hated it when Veronica was sarcastic; she always managed to make it bite. “I’m sure she’s not busy at _all_ and will be happy to relive her trauma for your hunch.”

He bit back some sarcasm of his own with a frustrated growl. “It’s not just a hunch, Veronica, and Heather’s worried about it too, so she could—”

“What if it isn’t good for her, JD?”

“Knowing the truth will be good for her,” He insisted.

“Really? Or will digging into this just freak her out? If we pick at the scar and it turns out that Ruiz is behind bars, exactly where he should be, then we just fucked up her recovery for nothing.”

“V…”

“I said I would look into this, JD, and we have, but we’ve gotten to a point where we need to let it go—”

“This is the point where we need to keep going!”

Pedestrians on the street around him were staring, some with the heightened interest that suggested they recognized him.

“Look, I have to go. We’ll talk about it when I get home.”

He hung up the phone without waiting for her goodbye. He was deeply torn as he boarded the bus, more distracted than he liked to be in public places. Part of him thought Veronica was right and that continuing this investigation was a bad idea, but the other hated loose threads and this case was a half-finished tapestry of them.

* * *

Veronica was pretty sure that prior to meeting JD, she hadn’t paced. She couldn’t remember for sure—high school felt like it had happened eons ago, and everything from the time she ran away to when she met JD in the convenience store was a hazy blur of regret and fear and stubborn determination not to call her parents—but she knew she paced now.

The office was really too small for it, but that didn’t stop either of them from wearing the old, ugly floor thin with circling steps of frustration and confusion.

JD had hung up on her nearly an hour ago and she had crossed this floor hundreds of times since then. Finally, her frustration grew too great. She needed to talk to someone.

The phone rang a few times, and Veronica could almost sense the hesitation, but eventually, there was a thin click.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Betty?”  Veronica swallowed hard. “I… I need your advice on something.”

“Um… is this related to party planning, or—”

“No,” Veronica was regretting this decision, but she had promised that she would try to reach out and Megan was her only other friend that wasn’t JD, and she worked for Heather Chandler. “I… It’s about a case.”

“Oh.”

“See, the thing is, we’re not sure… we’re not sure that someone who should be in jail is in jail.”

“Why?” Betty asked. “Did you hear that he got out?”

That certainly was the question, wasn’t it? “No. We haven’t heard anything, but that’s kind of the problem; we think we should have heard something, and we haven’t.”

“Have you worked a case like this before?”

“No, we haven’t.”

“Then why do you think you would have heard something?” Betty asked.

“Betty?” Veronica said, “This is exactly why I called you.” She made it seem so clear, so simple. She had always been like that, Veronica remembered. Veronica, little genius that she had been, was usually a frenzy of too many thoughts that didn’t connect. Betty was calm and cool.

“So, you don’t have anything to go on, you’re just assuming the worst?”

“That would be very us,” Veronica said. “I mean, JD and I… we’re a bit used to the worst. Him even more than me, and this whole thing stank from the start. I don’t know what to make of it.”

“It seems very… cinematic to me,” Betty said carefully.

Veronica paused her pacing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Betty, finally displaying some of the timidity that Veronica remembered, stumbled slightly over her answer. “Just that, well, it sounds like a script, doesn’t it? The actress and the private investigators and the parties and all that. In a way it makes sense that you’re looking for a twist; in a movie there would be one.”

“Are you saying we’re inventing problems because we’re bored?”

“Well that depends.” Betty laughed a little. “Is she pretty?”

“Of course she is,” Veronica said without thinking.

Betty laughed again. “In that case I think you’re inventing problems to talk to a pretty girl.”

“Not this time, Betty.” Veronica sighed. “Not this time.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it worked out. I have to go I’ve got a wedding tomorrow and the bride just asked for a meeting, it’ll be a nightmare, I’m sure.”

“Of course. Thank you so much for your help.”

“Anytime, And Veronica?”

“Yes?”

“It was good talking to you.”

“You too, Betty.”

Veronica was setting her phone down just as JD walked through the door. “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” He told her.

“And?”  Veronica asked, holding onto her thoughts for the moment.

“Maybe you’re right about not telling Heather.”

That wasn’t what she had been expecting at all. “Really?”

“But I think we should reach out to Heather Chandler.”

Yet another surprising statement. “JD, you hate her.”

“I know, but Heather insists that Heather has her best interests at heart. If she knows something, she’ll tell us.”

Veronica chewed her lip, debating whether or not to even bother arguing with him. It was just one thing, right? “I still think we should drop it.”

“Veronica—”

“I was talking to Betty today and I just think that maybe we’ve taken this as far as we need to. We have nothing, JD, nothing at all to suggest that Ruiz isn’t where he should be. We’ve never had a case like this; maybe this is just how they work.”

“But—”

“But,” Veronica continued. “I don’t want to fight with you, so I’ll go along with talking to Heather Chandler, but you have to promise to accept whatever she says. If she says drop it, we do; got it?”

There was a long pause while Veronica watched several expressions pass over JD’s face. Finally, he nodded. “That seems fair. Shake on it?” He held out his hand.

Veronica took it, but he immediately changed his grip and pulled her against him, kissing her. “Thanks, V.”

She smiled, trying to play off how breathless she suddenly was. “For what?”

He shrugged. “Putting up with me, I guess.”

* * *

Heather paced back and forth in her living room, alternating between smooth marble floors and the area rug Heather had picked out. The massive change in surface made her unsteady on the slip-on heels that Heather had also picked out, but that didn’t stop her constant laps.

She didn’t want to do a fake interview. She didn’t want to do the real one either.

She crossed the room and checked the curtains again, pulling them tightly closed, though there’d only been the barest hint of a gap before.

Before Ruiz, before this constant panic, she didn’t think she’d ever had these curtains closed. She was pretty sure she’d never even noticed the weird abstract pattern on them, which was starting to look like Rorschach ink blots.

“Jesus, Heather, get it together,” She muttered. “Do not go Yellow Wallpaper on me now.”

The knock on the door saved her from more talking to herself. She squared her shoulders and arranged her face into a smile before she answered it.

Megan and one of Heather’s fleet of assistants and interns was waiting on the other side, both smiling, though for the intern it looked a little forced.

“Hey, Megan, how’s it going?”

“Pretty good,” She said with a forced smile. “I’m looking forward to this.”

Heather made her smile just slightly wider. “Me too, come on in.”

The stepped through the foyer and into the kitchen. “Can I get you anything?” Heather offered, more because she knew it was her line in this situation than any feelings of actual generosity.

“Some water would be great,” The intern said, before Megan had finished shaking her head.  

Heather grabbed him a glass and filled it before setting it on the table, despite the fact that he was reaching to take it from her. “Sorry,” She said, “Um, do you mind reminding me of your name?”

He frowned. “I’m Sam. We met at the party.”

Heather nodded. “Yes, I know, I’m so sorry, that was kind of a crazy night and I met a lot of people.”

“Speaking of that night,” Megan cut in, “The interviewer wants to ask about, you know, that whole thing. Are you okay with it?”

“Heather asked you to ask me if I was okay with it?” Heather said, touched.

Something like guilt flashed over Megan’s face. “She… well, she wants you to be okay with it, but if not, we’ll figure out something else to give him.”

Heather briefly scanned through her mental laundry list of scandalous issues which would make for good reading material and decided that the stalking thing was probably easier to talk about than any of the others.

“Yes, I guess it’s fine.”

“Good, I’ll make sure he doesn’t dive right in about it though.”

“How kind,” Heather muttered, rolling her eyes, and the intern—Sam, she reminded herself—laughed.

“Moving on,” Megan said, “Are you ready to begin?”

What followed was the longest and most forced casual conversation Heather had ever been a part of. Megan would carefully weave personal questions about a wide variety of things into what seemed like a normal conversation over a cup of coffee.

“That’s what GQ likes to do with their interviews; make it seem like their writers are just hanging out with these incredibly famous women.”

“It’s kinda…” Heather wanted to say gross but knew that would be frowned upon. “Strange.”

Megan shrugged. “What it is, is effective. People love these things, and it’s a great way to get some exposure without going out of your way. He’ll come over here, have a quick conversation and then write the article. No big deal.”

“Right,” Heather said, forcing a smile. “No big deal.”

Megan took a few more notes. “You did well, Heather.”

“You’ll give me a good grade?” Heather asked, intending to make a joke but it came off as an accusation, a condemnation.

Megan looked away, staring at the floor for a second before glancing at Sam, who was watching them. After a beat too long, she laughed. “Of course! A’s all around, I promise. We should probably be heading out, Sam, are you all set?”

Sam nodded and stood up, walking slowly towards the door.

Megan hung back and grabbed Heather’s arm, holding on just a little too tight. “Heather…” She paused, studying her face. “I… You should watch your back, okay?”

Heather yanked her arm out of her grip. “Excuse me?”

Her stare was too intense, almost unnerving, and Heather’s heartrate picked up, but Megan turned away and walked to the door, following Sam as if nothing had happened.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Heather dialed JD’s number.

“Hello?” That wasn’t JD’s voice.

“Veronica! Hi, um, it’s Heather!” She was too cheerful, bordering on manic. Veronica would think she was crazy. “I was just…” She hesitated. She had gotten very strange vibes from Megan, but this was Veronica’s old roommate she was talking about, and she had nothing to go on but a bad feeling.

“I was hoping to talk to JD,” Heather said, deciding that she couldn’t accuse Veronica’s friend without any evidence.

“Sure. One second,” Veronica said, and Heather wasn’t sure if she was imagining the note of bitterness there.

“Hey, Heather, what’s up?”

“Am I on speaker?” She asked.

“No, are you okay?”

Heather took a deep breath. “Yes, just… what do you know about Veronica’s roommate, Megan, the one that works for Heather?”

“I think everything I know about her was in that sentence, Heath. Why?”

Chewing her lip, Heather began a slow, ambling lap around her living room. “I don’t know. She just came over to do something for Heather and there was something… off about her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well she was normal at first, all business, you know? And then after we were done, she grabbed me and was staring at me so hard. I have no idea what she was thinking, and she told me to watch my back.”

“Do you think she was threatening you?”

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? “I don’t know. I barely know Megan, she’s just one of Heather’s dozens of worker bees who buzz around her when she needs them. I know her specialty is in mass media and Heather has tried to complain to HR about her dye job twice.”

“Is she competition in some way? Does she act at all?”

“You would know better than me,” Heather told him. “She’s your girlfriend’s former roommate.”

“Yeah and my cousin’s cousin knew a girl whose ex-boyfriend was Patrick Swayze’s cousin. Doesn’t mean I ever met him.”

“It’s not that distant!” Heather insisted. “Just… see if you can ask her, you know, subtly.”

“Here’s a crazy idea, Heather, why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Heather glared at her reflection in the living room mirror, rolling her eyes at the only sympathetic person in the room. “I can’t do that! She already hates me, JD, I can’t accuse her friend of… God, I don’t even know what I would accuse her of. Being weird? Creeping me out?”

“Jesus, why do I have to keep saying this? she doesn’t hate you! But if you got a weird feeling from Megan, it’s worth looking into. Maybe she knows something about Ruiz or maybe it’s something worse. We’ll deal with it if that’s what’s going on.”

“So you believe me?” She asked, choking slightly.

He let out a sigh. “I have nothing else to go on but what you tell me, Heather. I’d rather look into this for no reason than wish later that I had.”

“Okay. Thanks for doing that. I’ll… hang around and do nothing, in the meantime, I guess.” After she said it, she realized how pathetic she sounded, and wished she could call the words back.

JD sighed, only slightly pitying, for which she was grateful. “You’re not doing nothing. You’re living life as normal. If anything else happens, let me know, okay?”

She nodded. “I will.”

After they hung up, Heather stood still in the center of her smooth, coolly perfect living room, right at the center of her huge, empty house, and stared at nothing in particular, not sure what to do with herself.

* * *

“What was that about?” Veronica asked casually as soon as JD stepped back into the office.

He glanced at his phone and briefly debated telling Veronica but decided he couldn’t keep secrets from her. “Heather… experienced something weird today when she was talking to someone and she wanted me to look into that person a little bit.”

“Who?” Her eyes narrowed, already suspicious.

“Megan?” JD said, noticing that his voice hitched up like he wasn’t quite sure.

Veronica frowned. “Megan White? My roommate?”

“Yeah, the one who works for Heather Chandler.”

She snorted. “JD, that’s ridiculous.”

“Heather said that she—”

“JD, Heather has anxiety. She’s freaking out. Everything makes her nervous, including, apparently, my slightly socially awkward former roommate.” She shrugged and rolled her eyes.

“Veronica, we owe it to Heather to at least look into it.”

“I don’t owe her anything,” Veronica snapped.

JD waited for her to take a couple breaths before he went on. “I didn’t mean it like that, just that she’s still freaking out, you’re right, and we don’t have anything to give her that’s going to make it better.”

“I’m not going to spy on Megan, JD. She’s my friend.”

“Heather just said that she got intense earlier. You said she was socially awkward, was that what you meant?”

Veronica shook her head. “No. She can be quiet or sometimes a little brusque, not super feelings-y, you know? But she isn’t creepy or anything.”

“So, probably not a miscommunication?” He asked.

“I didn’t say that.” Veronica’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What did she even say, anyway?”

“She grabbed Heather and told her to watch her back. Heather said it felt a little threatening.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Veronica said again. “Why would Megan threaten Heather?”

“You tell me; you know her.” He raised an eyebrow, which only got him another glare.

“She wouldn’t,” Veronica snapped. “Heather is paranoid, JD. She had a panic attack in public the other day and she’s mistaking totally innocuous advice for threats.”

“Totally innocuous? ‘Watch your back’ is totally innocuous now? Come on, Veronica—”

“Don’t tell me to come on! Megan is my friend and I’m telling you she’s not threatening Heather!”

JD took a very long breath before he responded. “Veronica… neither of us is exactly objective here. I know you’re mad at Heather, with good reason!” He hurried to add, “But whatever’s going on, we’re all she’s got. Megan works for Heather’s best friend, and she’s telling her she needs to be careful. Say you’re right and it’s just advice, still kind of a weird thing to say, right?”

Veronica frowned, and he saw a dozen expressions cross her face before she, too, agreed to drop the brewing argument. “Fine. It’s a little weird. But Megan isn’t the stalker, I promise.”

“Right, we still have no reason to believe it’s not Ruiz.”

She froze, staring at him with wide eyes. “But Megan might.”

“Sorry?” JD said.

“Megan told Heather to watch her back, right?”

“Yeah, we’ve established that.”

“So maybe she knows something we don’t. She works for Heather Chandler, the same person who’s supposedly handling everything with the police for Heather.”

JD nodded, catching on. “The only person who knows everything—”

“Is Heather.”

“But Heather trusts her,” JD said grudgingly. He didn’t trust her, and hadn’t from the beginning, but he was willing to admit that Veronica was right about some of his personal biases.

“Then we’re going to need some evidence,” Veronica said.

JD let himself smile at her. “Well, that’s what we do, isn’t it?”


	18. I've Done Some Things That I Can't Speak

The modern age was a remarkable one for many reasons, not the least of which being that when a private investigator wanted to dig into someone’s past, but didn’t have the resources to do a formal background check, they could simply dive very, very far into that person’s online life to come up with a very, very small amount of relevant information.

“Heather is working full time and in law school at UCLA,” JD said, and Veronica heard the grudging note of respect in her voice. “She cites her father as her inspiration, but it doesn’t look like she’s been to see him since he remarried right after she graduated high school.”

“Speaking of high school,” Veronica said, scanning through Heather McNamara’s archive of throwback Thursday photos. “She and Heather have been friends since they were twelve, when they all became boarders at Westerburg Academy in Connecticut. According to Heather M, they ended up rooming together because of a mistake in the system, though Heather commented that she thought they’d done it as a joke.”

“Helpful,” JD said, rubbing his face and standing to step into the part of the office that functioned as a kitchen. “We’re out of coffee.”

“Your turn to refill it,” Veronica said, looking up from the computer screen and rubbing at her aching eyes.

JD rolled his eyes, and she was glad that he didn’t point out that it had been his turn to refill the pot last time as well. “Is this useful, V?”

She shrugged. “We’re getting information, right?”

“Information about what though? None of this offers me anything I couldn’t have gotten from just asking Heather, and—”

“We said we weren’t going to ask Heather,” Veronica reminded him.

He rolled his eyes and ground out, “I know. But we’re not getting anything that gets to the real point of this whole mess: why would Heather lie to Heather about Ruiz?”

“Which we don’t know that she did,” Veronica said, hating that she had to be the voice of reason. “I’m making calls but it’s going to take more digging.”

“If we can find a motive,” JD said, “Then maybe we can prove that she did it.”

“That’s really not how this is supposed to work, JD. There’s supposed to be a crime _first_.”

“It wouldn’t be Heather if everything happened in a normal, straightforward way.” He turned to stare out the grimy window. “V, we’re not making any progress.”

He pulled the now full coffee pot off of the machine and poured himself a cup, leaving room in the mug. She was about to comment that he didn’t take milk in his coffee, and that they didn’t have any milk if he wanted to when he opened the liquor cabinet and pulled out the whiskey, pouring some directly into the coffee.

He took a sip and grimaced. “Want one?”

Veronica stared. He didn’t look satisfied—cheap coffee and cheap whiskey were a bad combination—but she shrugged anyway. “Sure.”

He poured her one and she downed half in one go. It burned, more because it was fresh coffee than because of the whiskey but she coughed at the bitter aftertaste. When it was gone, she stared at the bottom of the mug. “I don’t feel better.”

“That’s because we still know nothing.” He set his cup down on the counter harder than necessary, and then had to check to make sure the cheap mug hadn’t broken. “And Heather might be in trouble.”

“JD, we don’t know that, and we can’t feed into her anxiety any more than we already have.”

“I know,” He snapped. After a deep breath, he went on. “I’m so fucking sick of not knowing what the fuck is going on.” 

She stood and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I know.”

“V, I swear we knew more before we caught Ruiz.”

“What if we’re just psyching ourselves out?” Veronica asked carefully. “What if we want there to be a mystery?”

A smile she didn’t like crept onto his face. “Now, Veronica Sawyer, why would you want that?”

“I didn’t mean me!” She insisted. “Us, in general. And I would do it for the business!”

“We’re not getting paid right now, V,” He pointed out. “And we’re not taking new jobs because we’re drowning in this. So…”

“Shut up,” She said, stepping away and crossing her arms. They were absolutely not doing this now.

“Veronica, I know you better than—”

“JD. Don’t.”

He put his hands up. “Fine, but when you’re ready to get off the denial train, let me know.”

“Shut up.” To avoid meeting his eyes, she went back to scrolling through the Instagram feed, seeing nothing of note aside from picture after picture of Heather, younger and sadder, standing with her friends. It was strange, in every way, the other two overshadowed Heather, Veronica couldn’t take her eyes off of her.

She scrolled away quickly, feeling JD’s eyes on her and hating that she knew what he was thinking and couldn’t deny it.

“Why don’t you try Holden,” Veronica finally said. “Maybe he can call in a favor with one of his old buddies?”

“I doubt he’ll take my call, but sure, why the fuck not.” He sighed and walked away, already dialing.

Content to tune him out and continue her search, Veronica looked through more pictures of Heather before she gave up and went back to scrolling around Heather’s fansites.

They had bookmarked a few of them before arresting Ruiz, scanning for messages that read as just a little _too_ intense, but in a world where people wrote detailed and specific fanfiction about real people, it was hard to tell who would be willing to do some breaking and entering and who was just misguided.

The latest update discussed a well-known writer walking into Heather’s house, and the speculation that there would be a new interview, while they debated whether or not Heather was open enough about her personal life.

Veronica rolled her eyes, ignoring the absurd urge to comment that Heather had every right to privacy and that these people should go outside and leave her alone, and continued scrolling. She went back all the way to the posts from when everything with Ruiz had broken. There were dozens of blurry cellphone photos of Heather, wrapped in JD’s jacket and being escorted to her car by Holden and a cop whose name Veronica forgot.

The buzz on these pictures had calmed down, but comments still trickled in, ranging from sympathy to coldly calling Heather dramatic for being so afraid. Veronica thought of Heather curled up in the dressing room, her eyes streaked with makeup and her face pale.

Whatever was going on, the fear was real to Heather, and Veronica had promised her that things would be okay, that they would look after her. She had to keep her word, and she would, no matter what that took. Veronica knew it was important to keep her promises. There was nothing else to it.

* * *

Heather woke up bright and early so that she would have time to make herself some tea and sit for a few minutes before Heather arrived, a one-woman army whose mission was to transform Heather into a person worth interviewing.

Megan had given her notes to Heather, who’d been more or less positive. It was strange that the only thing Heather felt when she received positive feedback from Heather was relief. Not long ago, a matter of months, Heather would have glowed for days at the faintest hint of approval.

She felt different now, itchy and antsy and dissatisfied. In the morning light, her mug clutched in one hand, she felt like the kind of girl who could demand to wear red, a right Heather had made clear belonged to only the toughest women, and who would refuse to be ignored. She felt like the kind of girl who didn’t have to ask for approval before buying a skirt that she liked.

Soon, Heather would arrive with some soft, pale green thing for her to put on and wear in her kitchen, where she would sit with a stranger and make conversation like they were friends. She would talk about her traumas and make jokes, sipping a cocktail Heather would never drink on her own.

The whole time, she would be yearning for a dirty bar in Nova Scotia, sitting across from a guy who had probably never noticed her clothes, who would talk about his traumas so she wouldn’t feel alone. It would keep her sane, and when it was over, maybe she could call him. Maybe she could ask him to make good on a promise to take her to a bar where no one would judge her.

Maybe she could be brave enough to commit the ultimate defiance, and go there wearing red, wanting to be photographed.

“Heather! I got your clothes. Do you have any food? I’m starving and the line at Starbucks was just crazy; I couldn’t stop.”

“Help yourself,” Heather sighed, storing the nice little fantasy on a shelf in her mind where she could use it later.  

“So how are you feeling? Also, do you have anything paleo, I’ve been cutting back on… well everything. This diet is _muy molesto,_ you know?”

“Si,” Heather deadpanned, “And I have no idea what I have and what diets it complies with; I’m barely ever home and I never cook.”

“You should learn,” Heather said, hesitantly sniffing a thing of store bought salsa she’d dug from Heather’s fridge. “I have this amazing vegan power rice bowl recipe that you’d love.”

“Heather, you’re not a vegan.”

Heather only shrugged, dipping a carrot into the salsa. “No, but vegan bloggers kill since it’s a niche market, and no one has to know.”

Heather sighed. She had known what the answer would be and still found herself disappointed. She switched the subject before Heather could dive any deeper into the various blogging markets to which she was trying to appeal. “So, what did you bring me.”

Heather finished her carrot with an almost bafflingly satisfied expression. “Options!” Her tone was so gleeful that Heather abandoned the surge of bitterness Heather’s tiny appetite had inspired.

Dancing blithely over to the garment bag, Heather pulled out piece after piece; pants, skirts, a dress, two jackets, blouses, t-shirts, one of those unitards Heather knew Heather hated, a hat, tights, even a couple bras, which looked so complicated Heather that balked.

Ignorant to her reaction, Heather was beaming. “Take your pick!”

“God… I don’t even know where to start,” Heather said, cautiously stepping forward and running her hands over a tweed skirt, feeling like something was about to jump out of the material and bite her.

Her eyes darted over, seeing green in every shade and all its forms. The plaid pants, paired with a black shirt had dark forest green threads running through them, the silken blouse in a color that approached blue but didn’t quite make it there, the emerald dress, the olive velvet jacket.

“No red?” Heather asked. She had meant to make it a joke, but her voice only sounded tired.

Heather’s smile faltered. “Just your hair, and this.” She held up a bullet-shaped tube of lipstick.

“Thanks,” Heather said, not sure why she suddenly felt so old and so sad.

“What about the jacket with the white skirt? That kind of reminds me of our uniforms.” The smile was back, but softer. It was not the thousand-watt smile that had landed Heather sponsorships for everything from insurance to diet pills, it was the natural smile that Heather had known when they were still required to wear uniforms.

“Is that a compliment?” Heather asked, rolling her eyes and slapping her publicity smile on. She wondered if Heather could tell the difference. “Maybe I should try on the dress?”

“You totally should; I wanted it in my size but the cut hit me all wrong. Or you could go with the skirt? Maybe show a little leg? It’s a men’s magazine after all.”

Suddenly Heather found the pants far more interesting, though the long dress was not without appeal. “I’ll play around with some of it.”

“No hurry; the caterers won’t be here for at least an hour, and the interviewer guy will be in after that.”

“I forgot this thing is catered,” Heather said, randomly selecting a couple things out of Heather’s bottomless bag of clothes.

“Yep, a Japanese style afternoon tea with sushi and dango and dorayaki, all served with green tea.”

It was a little random for Heather, but if nothing else this interview would be delicious, assuming she managed to eat anything. “Sounds good.”

“I voted for Las Lechuga but apparently that’s not what they were going for? I don’t even know. Would have been nice to support the locals though.”

“We’ll get Las Lechuga next time we hang out,” Heather said, not really wanting to share their favorite Mexican place with some random interviewer anyway. Whatever high fashion catering company they’d hired—who were probably not even Japanese—would put together an aesthetic spread that would photograph beautifully next to Heather.

“God, yes please. All this vegan shit is driving me crazy. Maybe we can do a sleepover photo session or something casual. You haven’t been on the blog in months and my McNaminions miss you!”

Working to keep the groan Heather’s nickname for her millions of followers always inspired in her internal, Heather smiled. “Yeah. Sounds fun.”

It didn’t sound fun; just once Heather would have liked to have hung out with her friends like they had back in the day, just for each other, listening to music and drinking fruit flavored beers that they’d had to flirt with greasy townies to get. Now they could drink fancy cocktails at the nicest bars, usually comped by the owners in the desperate hope that Heather would boost them on her Instagram, or Heather would become a regular and a big star.

“Okay, go model some stuff for me!” Heather clapped her hands together like an eager child. “¡Date prisa! Go!”

“So much for no rush,” Heather muttered, gathering her clothing options and shuffling into the nearest room with a door she could close. She tried on the dress first, and shuffled out to show Heather, whose immediate expression matched how Heather felt.

“You look like a first grade teacher, take it off.” She shuddered in exaggerated revulsion.

At least Heather was good for a laugh when they agreed with each other. Heather returned to the room and put on the pants and a short sleeved, high necked sweater which felt too thick for LA.

“Better,” Heather said, “But I don’t think that’s the move for today. Just a bit too English countryside, don’t you think?”

“I like the pants though,” Heather said.

Waving a dismissive hand, Heather shrugged. “Keep them if you want them, but they’re not right for today.”

It took them so long to pick an outfit that by the time Heather had been dressed in the dark green blouse and white skirt, the caterers were setting up and they were in a rush to do her hair and fix her makeup. It was the usual hectic rush that slowed to a crawl while they waited for the magazine people to show.

At last, a scruffy looking man in a blazer, his beard untrimmed and his jeans torn, appeared at her door with a skinny photographer slouching alongside him.

“Hey, Heather! Nice to finally meet you.” He stepped forward with open arms, and Heather ducked neatly, taking his hand in a firm handshake while she stepped back.

“You too,” She said, her smile and tone warm, despite the careful distance she’d placed between them. “Come join me.”

She gestured magnanimously towards the dining room table, laid out with an impressive spread that the photographer immediately started taking pictures of. The interviewer made himself at home, sitting comfortably in one of Heather’s chairs without waiting for her to sit.

Heather’s father had been a man with old fashioned manners, a thing she’d mocked him for when she was younger, but it had taught her how to notice a lack of courtesy when she saw it. It made her dislike him more than it was strictly rational to, but she was very used to pretending to like men and didn’t see much issue with it.

He at least didn’t dive right in, building slowly with questions about her house, her friends, if she was glad to be back in LA. It wasn’t until they’d been talking for a while that he asked the real stuff.

“So, this being a men’s interest magazine, I’ve got to ask, Heather, who’s the special man?”

For a second, Heather thought he was trying to ask about Ruiz, because neither Heather nor Heather had prepared her for this question. “Um…” The urge to simply say that she wasn’t interested in men struck her, but stuck in her throat long enough for her to think it over. “That’s just not really on my radar right now. I’ve been so busy, you know.”

He nodded. “Oh, I know that. I’ve heard some interesting rumors about one of Hollywood’s favorite forgotten bad boys.”

The image of what JD’s face would be if he heard that description popped into her mind, and she had to swallow a laugh. “Oh, no, that’s just… people see things and start talking without thinking about it. He was my bodyguard for a bit, and helped me through a difficult time; I consider him a really close friend.”

“Ah, poor guy.” The interviewer smiled jovially, and Heather wondered if he had told her his name. If so, she was rather pleased with herself for forgetting it. “But let’s talk about that more. Why’d you need a bodyguard.”

“Someone was following me,” Heather said, just like she’d practiced. “Sending weird messages—”

“How SVU of him.”

Heather forced a smile that was tight as a violin string. “Yes, exactly. I was becoming concerned to go out in public, so I hired bodyguards and it all came to a head when I was almost attacked at a party.”

“And you were rescued?” He smiled, just as false as hers. “Like something out of a movie.”

Heather nodded, thinking about dark hair and warm eyes, blood smeared next to glossed lips, and that strip of skin that Veronica’s dress had revealed. “Yes, it was.”

* * *

JD dropped his head into his hands, exhausted, though he’d done little aside from stare at his phone for the last three hours. “V… It is still not ringing.”

“He’ll call when he calls,” Veronica said mildly, though he suspected it was a pretense. Her eyes darted towards the phone nearly as often as his did, even though she was pretending to update their website. “We’re lucky he picked up the first time; don’t push it.”

“I know,” He sighed, standing up to pace. He knew he was fortunate that Holden had answered, and had been willing to do him any kind of favor, but small town life had apparently made him more amenable. “It’s been hours.”

“The guy works a full-time job, JD,” Veronica pointed out. “He can’t do everything instantly.”

“Stop being practical.”

She just shrugged. “I’m really starting to think we won’t find anything. We did all this digging on Heather Chandler and got nothing, and there haven’t been more letters or pictures. We really—”

The phone buzzed and they both froze, staring at it for a long second.

Despite his previously frantic pace, JD crossed the room slowly to answer it, feeling strangely ominous. “Hello?”

“JD, hey. So… weird news.”

“How weird?”

“Ruiz never went to jail.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

“But… how? He—” JD’s mind spun so fast he barely registered the fact that Veronica was glaring at him, mouthing insults while he continued to be too shocked to put Holden on speaker. “He got out?”

“No,” Holden repeated slowly. “He never went in. He was booked and everything, but there was no arraignment, no official arrest.”

“But Heather said… how could Heather not know this?” It didn’t cross his mind to believe Heather could have known that Ruiz wasn’t in jail. There was no way.

“Not sure what to tell you. My guy said they’ve been too busy for stuff like this, but that Ruiz was released the morning after they brought him in. No charges, no record.”

“So he was only there for a few hours?” JD asked, feeling like his thoughts were working through thick soup before they managed to make it to his mouth. “But…”

“Give me the phone,” Veronica said, and when he didn’t immediately hand it over, she just snatched it out of his hands. “Holden, what the hell? He was in on harassment and attempted assault, we had every reason to believe—”

She paused, apparently interrupted.

“Yeah, sure but—”

Another pause.

“For god’s sake, why didn’t she know though? She was the victim— Don’t fucking—I know what I’m talking about. She didn’t, I mean…” She glanced at JD. “Heather didn’t know, right?”

He shook his head. “She couldn’t have.”

“She’s a good actress…” Veronica suggested.

“No. I mean, why?” Though, he could think of one reason Heather might not tell them what she knew. The same reason that he and Veronica had pushed on this case, had hoped it would turn out to be something more. He looked at Veronica, studied her face, and thought about the way Heather had looked at her.

Heather had wanted a second chance…

“No,” He insisted again, trying to banish those very cynical, untrusting thoughts with just his tone. “Heather didn’t know.”

“Could it have been some kind of clerical error? They meant to release a drunk and disorderly and let him go instead? There are a lot of guys named Ruiz.” Veronica looked almost hopeful, and JD jumped on her perfectly logical, practical theory.

Though, in order to make that fit he had to ignore several very puzzling details.

“That makes sense! We can—”

Veronica was still talking to Holden. “Yes. Thank you for doing this. I know. If you find anything else out, please give us a call.” She nodded once and hung up the phone. “We owe him a huge favor.”

“I know,” JD said. “Jesus, what the hell are we supposed to do with this?”

“I have no idea,” Veronica replied, dropping slowly into a chair. “I need a drink.”

That seemed as good a place to start as any, because JD was feeling twitchy and too aware of his skin, and those irritating little thoughts which never quite shut up were getting louder. The drugs would open his mind, help him calm down, he’d be able to think better.

“JD?” Veronica said, “You still with me?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and grabbed the whiskey out of the cupboard. He didn’t bother with a glass, just took a swig before handing it over.

“We have to warn Heather,” Veronica said after she’d had a drink and passed it back to him. “She needs to know.”

“Yeah,” He agreed.

Veronica looked away from him, staring at something on the floor. “But… let’s wait—”

“We shouldn’t put this off—”

“Just until tomorrow,” She assured him. “I mean… she deserves one more decent night’s sleep, right?”

He nodded slowly, realizing that if Heather wasn’t aware that Ruiz was out there, then this would be her last night of rest until they’d gotten to the bottom of all of this. Maybe they were both just trying to put it off, but he was alright with that for now.

* * *

It was evening by the time they were done with the photoshoot and the rest of the interview, which had dragged on longer than any casual conversation would, especially considering the guy would only have a page or so to print it, which meant that eighty percent of what Heather had said would be cut, only keeping the sensational stuff about stalkers and romance.

_Poor JD,_ Heather thought, knowing he would get caught up in all that again with this renewed interest. He should be allowed to be left alone, and she kept ruining it. At least he had a sense of humor about it.

“Heather?” Heather strode in, her heels clicking on the floor and her hair bouncing around her shoulders. “The door was unlocked, so I let myself in.”

“Hi, Heather,” She said, suddenly very nervous. They hadn’t had plans and Heather never just showed up randomly, and especially never dressed like that. She was wearing leggings. Her sweater was still red and perfectly fitted, but casual. Normal. Athleisure was Heather’s thing, and Heather made fun of her for it constantly, she never indulged in stretchy, comfortable fabrics.  This could only mean that something was wrong.

But Heather settled down at the table next to Heather, as casual as could be. “I brought food! I swear I haven’t been able to eat at a table in weeks so this will be so much fun.”

“What will be so much fun?” Heather asked stupidly.

“Our girls night! We haven’t hung out, just the two of us, in forever.” She reached out and put her hand over Heather’s, smiling warmly.

Heather’s stomach twisted in knots, and the limited interest she’d had in the salads Heather had brought vanished completely, and the treats she’d nibbled on during the interview threatened to make a reappearance.

She pulled her hand away, tucking her hair behind her ear to hide the gesture. “Um, okay.”

“I went to a seminar a while back, okay, well I didn’t go, but I sent Sam and he told me it was all about ways to teach your clients self-care. I realize that this is something we haven’t really—”

“Heather, I’m fine,” Heather said, finally catching on. “Seriously. The interview today went really well. Everything is back on track.”

“So you’ll sign something else?”

“Not for before press and awards for Strike,” Heather said. “I want to focus on that. I’ll sign, but no filming until after I’m done with everything for Strike.”

Heather beamed. “It’s a deal. I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”

Heather twitched back in surprise, suddenly on edge. “What?”

“Oh, just all this stuff. I know it’s been weighing on you. I was so worried you weren’t going to want to come back to work.”

“Um, well,” Heather hesitated, frowning. “I’m not exactly—”

“Everything is going according to plan and we’re fully back on track,” Heather continued. “I took care of that whole stalking situation and—”

“What?” Heather finally spoke loud enough to cut Heather off.

Heather stuttered to a halt. “I took care of it.” She shrugged blithely, smiling in a way that made Heather’s skin crawl.

“What does that mean?” Heather asked. “What… what did you do?” Her stomach revolved, and for a moment she thought she would need to make a run for it, but she stayed in her seat, staring at Heather. “Did you… Were the notes you?”

It was such a horrible thought; Heather couldn’t believe she said it out loud, couldn’t believe it even occurred to her, but she couldn’t deny that once it was out there it made sense.

“What?” Heather drew back, shocked. “No! God, Heather what kind of psychopath do you think I am?”

“I don’t know, Heather,” She said. “I don’t know what to think.”

“I’m your best friend,” Heather insisted. “I only do what’s good for you; you know that.”

“I don’t know anything.” Heather could barely hear her voice over the pounding of her heart.

Heather sighed, closing her eyes like she wanted to roll them but thought better of it. “Relax, Heather. I just set up a little scandal to put your mind at ease. It was nothing.”

“Nothing? What… Ruiz—”

“Was a photographer in debt,” Heather said. “I gave him a little incentive to make a scene at the party and then got him out of jail before the water got too hot.”

“Heather—” The world was spinning. The floor was falling out from under her. She was drowning. “It wasn’t real.”

“Nothing in this town is real, Heather,” Heather said. “Besides, those freaks you hired weren’t finding anything! I had to do something before you totally spiraled.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“What should I have done, Heather? Just let you throw away all m- _our_ hard work because of some guy who got tired of jerking off to pictures of you and decided to up his game? I did what I had to do. For you! To protect you.”

“No,” Heather shook her head, suddenly very aware that she was crying and shaking and felt worse than she had. “No, I didn’t want… I don’t want that kind of protection.”

“Heather—”

“DON’T!”

Both of them looked startled at the sudden yell, and Heather was shocked to realize it had come from her.

“I can’t…” She whispered, and then suddenly she was running. The door was unlocked, as Heather had said, and she barely paused to yank it open and bolt outside.

“Heather!”

Halfway down the road, Heather glanced back to see Heather in the doorway, outlined in the bright light of her house.

“Heather, come back! This is—” She stopped.

Without waiting to hear what exactly Heather thought of this, Heather kept on running. She had never been athletic, had always hated running, but god did this feel good. Every part of her body hurt and that was how she wanted it. The pain made her feel alive, made her thoughts clear. She had to get away.

Heather had set her up at the party. Heather had arranged for someone to attack her, to scare her, just for a little attention. Heather had done this and Heather no longer wanted anything to do with her.

“There are other agents,” She told herself between labored breaths. “I never have to see her again. I never want to see her again.”

_Never again. Never again. Never again._ The words echoed with each of her steps, carrying her further and further away from her house. Afraid of being pursued, she started making random turns, darting down side streets and around corners, fleeing as far as she could make herself run.

It was further than she would have guessed if anyone had asked her how far she could run. Adrenaline and betrayal lasted longer than she would have expected, so when she finally collapsed, it was with the purest form of exhaustion she’d ever experienced.

After she’d finally caught her breath, though the shaking and the pain hadn’t diminished at all, she looked up.

The street was dark, spotted with lamps that did little to cut through the moonless night. And it was completely unfamiliar.

Her first thought was to call Ori. His was one of the only numbers she had memorized, typed out with shaking fingers which were quickly going numb with cold. It rang until his perfunctory voicemail message played and Heather hung up without putting anything to words.

Instead, she opened Uber, feeling nauseous at the idea of even looking at a stranger, but of course she had no other options.

The bar where she needed to type her destination mocked her. She couldn’t go home, not while she knew Heather was waiting there. She couldn’t go to Heather’s, because for all she knew, Heather had been fully aware of what Heather had done, and hadn’t cared enough to tell her.

The truth was that she knew exactly where she wanted to go, and exactly who she wanted to see, but she didn’t know where they lived, and didn’t know how to explain, and didn’t want to have to try.

But really, she had no choice. Part of her thought that they were the destination she’d had in mind when she’d bolted from her home. So she typed in the DSI office address and settled in to wait for her ride.


End file.
